^ '/ i^' 



'SPIRITUAL 



VISITORS. 



BY THE AUTHOR OP 



"musings of an invalid," "clouds and sun- 
shine," etc. 



"3 




NEW-YORK : 

JOHN S. TAYLOR, 17 Ann-Street. 

1854. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States 

for the Southern District of New York. 



y 



Zo-an i. Reed, Phintbb, 
16 Spruce-street. 



TO 



Ji^K^[i§ [>a[i'^0[R3 



THIS BOOK 



IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 



The kind reception extended to the following 
Dialogues, as they appeared originally in the 
BIZARRE, has encouraged the author to 
present them in a collected form, with some 
few additions. 



CONTENTS. 



ALCIBIADES — SHERIDAN,: , 13 

HENRY DANDOLO — PETER STUYVESANT, 25 

RUBENS — COLE, 40 

PINDAR — DRAKE, , 57 

DIOGENES — RABELAIS, 74 

ARISTIDES— JAY, 90 

CHRYSOSTOM — CHANNING, 107 

AMPHION — BELLINI,..-. 123 

ROSCIUS — KEMBLE, , 129 

ARCHIMEDES — FULTON 155 

AURELIUS — HOWARD, « , 172 

CORINNA — LADY JANE GREY, ;,............ .188 

BEN JONSON — SAM JOHNSON, , 206 

JULIUS CJESAR — ZACHARY TAYLOR, * 225 

TIMON — SWIFT, • 243 

JOHN SMITH — SYDNEY SMITH, 261 

LUCIAN — LAMB, 280 

FATHER NILE— FATHER MISSISSIPPI,.-.-. ' 298 

PERICLES — HAMILTON, --- • ^^^ 



PHIDIAS 



—RAPHAEL, •••331 



INTRODUCTION. 

In submitting the following papers to his 
fellow-citizenSj the editor begs leave to accom- 
pany them "with a single explanatory remark. 
They purport to be copies from memory, of 
conversations between more or less distinguished 
ghosts, of various climes and eras, as held at 
the residence of their hospitable host, and his 
ever-beloved and lamented friend, Whimsiculo 
the Elder, The editor was never fortunate 
enough to be present at any of these inter- 
views, though he has frequently heard the old 



Xli INTRODUCTION. 

gentleman allude to them, and at times, with 
considerable warmth of manner ; nor was he 
aware of the existence of any memorials of 
them, till recently lighting on the aforesaid MSS., 
while in the discharge of his arduous executo- 
rial duties. Delicacy will not allow him to com- 
ment upon the qualities, either of the speak- 
ers, or their themes. Of the substantial accu- 
racy of the reports of their interlocutions, how- 
ever, the well-known conscientiousness and sin- 
gular love of truth, of the exemplary defunct, 
are a suflScient guaranty. It will be seen that, 
at first, he has but little to say himself, save 
in the way of answer to the questions of his 
spiritual guests, though becoming more self-pos- 
sessed and chatty afterwards, on better acquaint- 
ance. "With these few words of elucidation, the 
editor respectfully takes his leave. 



SPIRITUAL YISITOES. 



ALCIBIADES— SHERIDAN. 

Ale. I am delighted to meet you, my dear friend, 
un^er this hospitable roof. But how is it that we 
have never run against each other before ? Kindred 
spirits that we are, is it possible that our ghostly 
palms now come together in friendly collision for the 
first time, in our own native planet, and in this gay, 
thriving town of Gotham ? 

Sher. So it seems, my dear boy, so it seems. 

Ale. I have had the pleasure, however, of seeing 
you before ; aye, and of hearing you, upon two me- 
morable occasions. 

Sher. Indeed ! what were they ? 

Ale. Well, the last was quite recently ; you were 
at the time addressing a large and enthusiastic meet- 
ing of residents of the star Artemisia, on the great 



14 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

subject of Homestead Exemption. I need not say 
that I was delighted ; no one among the fifty thou- 
sand listeners more so, I assure you. I ought to be 
a pretty good judge of speaking, too, for we men of 
Athens, you know, were no fools at that business ; 
to say nothing of the vast amount of popular ora- 
tory I have heard all over the universe, since then. 
You surely remember the circumstance. 

Sher. Oh yes, I remember making a few remarks 
on the subject you speak of, to the good people of 
that luminary, and that they were well received. 
Poor things, it was high time that they should be 
stirred up on that point. Their financial afi'airs 
have been in a frightful way, for a great while. In- 
deed I do not know that I ever stumbled on a planet 
that was more crowded with insolvents. I speak 
not of your reckless, unprincipled contractors of 
obligations, but innocent, exemplary, high-minded 
insolvents. Ah ! dear, I am afraid they will never 
again know, there, those choicest blessings of exist- 
ence, a sound currency and cash payments ! Ex- 
cuse me, my friend, but when I get on this theme, I 
grow warm in spite of myself. May I ask, what 
was the other occasion, to which you have so kindly 
referred ? 

Ale. The other was much longer ago, though it 
lives very distinctly in my memory. You were a 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 15 

mortal at the time, and were standing at the corner 
of the street, with your friends, Kemble and Faw- 
cett, looking at the flames, as they danced and frol- 
icked about that universe -renowned temple of the 
Muses, Old Drury. I happened to be passing at 
the very moment, when you remarked, with great 
earnestness and many gestures, " Gentlemen, one 
thing alone sustains me in this terrible crisis, and 
that is the conviction that I have never been guilty 
of an unjust action. Principle, gentlemen, princi- 
ple" — here, I remember, you paused, and thumping 
your breast with manly energy, repeated the glori- 
ous sentiment several times, in the same glowing 
language. Never, never, my dear friend, in the 
whole course of my spiritual career, was I more 
profoundly impressed ; and had it at all accorded 
with my spiritual arrangements for the evening, I 
should have remained, and insisted upon an imme- 
diate introduction ; but 

tSher. Stop, stop, my friend. You are touching 
now upon a tender chord. Let us change the sub- 
ject. 

Ale. I really ask pardon for 

She?'. Not at all, not at all. But, my dear Alci- 
biades, if I may be so bold, where were you, at the 
time of receiving our noble host's polite invitation ? 

Ale. Well, your question might be an embarrass- 



16 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

ing one, to some spirits ; however easy it may be for 
such an exemplary, and notorious home-body of a 
ghost as myself, to answer. Know, then, my financial 
friend, that the invitation in question found me com- 
fortably seated in my lodgings in the north star, in 
gown and slippers, and toasting my spiritual toes, 
while deep in the perusal of the seventy-fifth edition of 
a most (harming little work, entitled "Aunt Susan's 
Boudoir ;" wherein, under the guise of a sprightly 
romance, some most profound social and moral truths 
are thoroughly developed, and brought home to the 
enthralled reader ; a work that has already created 
a most intense sensation throughout Ursa Major, 
and which, if I am not greatly mistaken, is destined 
to have a tremendous run all over the universe. 
Indeed, I can hardly imagine a more desirable piece 
of property to hold, than the ownership of this very 
book would be, were there (what I begin to fear, my 
dear Sherry, there never will be,) any comprehensive 
and well-regulated system of interstellar copyright. 
But my friend, you look incredulous. You really can't 
suppose, for one moment, that I have been trifling 
with truth, in this little statement of mine. 

)Sher. Oh, no, no. At the same time I confess 1 
am greatly surprised at it. Is it possible, then, that 
the gay, restless Alcibiades has settled down at last 
into such a staid and sedate personage as this ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 17 

That renowned lover of fun and mischief, that most 
enterprising, turbulent, fascinating of Greeks, sitting 
quietly over his fire, lost in the pages of a moral 
and religious romance ! You must be quizzing, my 
friend, or else you are a sadly altered ghost, indeed. 
Ale. You may well say that, most illustrious of 
dramatists and bailifi'-dodgers ; you may well say 
that. I a?n an altered ghost, and I have been, ever 
since my first abrupt departure from this little earth. 
What did I ever gain, pray, by that same mercurial, 
enterprising nature of mine? Didn't it involve me 
in perpetual scrapes and disasters ; not merely 
bringing my terrestrial career to a violent and un- 
timely close, didn't it also subject me to constant 
misrepresentations and slanders ? "Wasn't I a per- 
fect bye-word in Athens, for all that was debauched 
and dissolute ? Did'nt all the old men in town shake 
their impertinent fingers at me in the streets, and 
all the old nurses frighten their babes into silence 
by threatening to call me ? Was there ever a mid- 
night frolic, or a nose knocked from a statue, or a 
knocker divorced from a door, but what I always 
had the credit of it ? When, half the time, I was 
really hard at work, studying my Pythagoras, or 
listening to the lectures of dear old Socrates, that 
wisest, best, ugliest of philosophers. Yes, my dear 
friend, it was high time for me to change my course, 



18 SPIRITUAL VISITOES. 

and to set about becoming the sober, literary spirit 
that you now behold me ! 

iShe7\ And yet. Alcibiades, when I come to sur- 
vey the cut of your spiritual jib a little more closely, 
I must say, I have my misgivings. There is a lurk- 
ing devil in that ghostly eye of yours, that tells me 
you are as fond of your nectar and your fun, as ever 
you were. Own up, now, you madcap, own up, and 
tell me that you have been playing upon this ingenu- 
ous nature of mine. 

Ale. Not so, oh thou most entertaining and exem- 
plary Englishman of thy day, not so. [Here loud 
cries of hot corn, hot corn, were heard in the ad- 
joining street]. Proserpine preserve us, what 
strange sounds are these ? 

iSher. Something new to me, I assure you. But 
our worthy host here will elucidate the matter. [ To 
W. the Elder]. My dear friend, do have the good- 
ness to explain to us the meaning of that curious 
piece of vocalization, that seems to have so deeply 
impressed our Greek brother. 

W. the Elder. Why, gentlemen, that is nothing 
more nor less than two of our young colored 
brethren, duly setting forth to the community the 
virtues of one of our favorite national dishes, hot 
corn. Surely you know the article. 

Ale. Not I, i'faith. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 19 

JSher. Nor I. 

W. the Elder. You surprise me. I supposed, at 
least, that my English friend here was acquainted 
•with its merits. But you shall know it, before an- 
other sun sets. So, come and dine with me to 
morrow, and I will set you vis-a-vis to some of the 
finest ears that ever tasseled in old Westchester. 
And I will also promise you as superb a dish of suc- 
cotash, as 

Both Ghosts. Succotash! 

W. the Elder. Suc-co-tash. I don't wonder, 
though, at your echoing the sound. You will not 
find the word either in Donnegan or Ainsworth. 
Both name and preparation are purely aboriginal. 
Never mind, you must taste it, nevertheless, and if, 
after doing so, Alcibiades, you do not pronounce it a 
dish worthy to cross the lips of Olympian Jove him- 
self, then am I a vain boaster. But I must not in- 
terrupt the thread of your discourse, wherewith I 
was beginning to be vastly edified. 

Ale. This is very kind of you, my dear old friend. 
Let me see. When this little incident occurred, I 
was just on the point of retorting upon friend Sher- 
idan, his own question ; namely, where he happened 
to be at the time your kind lightning-invitation 
overtook him. 

Sher. And I will answer it, all the more willingly, 



20 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

my dear iconoclast, because it so happened, that it 
found me employed in a way most flattering to iny 
vanity as an author. 

Ale. Ah, how's that ? • 

Sher. Listen. I was, at that very moment, in the 
very pleasant metropolis of Ski-hi, in the heart of 
the eastern hemisphere of the sun, of system num- 
ber sixty-six, of the sixth series of the occidental 
subdivision of the oriental division of 

W. the Elder. W-h-e-w ! 

Sher. I am not at all surprised at your whistling, 
my dear terrestrial friend, with your limited expe- 
rience in the way of time and space ; but see how 
coolly my brother ghost here takes it. I appeal to 
him for the accuracy of my description. 

Ale. Perfectly correct. But on with your story. 
What were you about there ? 

Sher. Well, I was just going to say, that I was 
quietly seated in the National Theatre of said me- 
tropolis ; having been expressly invited there to 
attend the rehearsal of my own School for Scan- 
dal 

Ale. Pardon me for interrupting you thus, but it 
so happens that it is no longer ago than yesterday, 
that I had a chat with Menander himself, about that 
same sparkling comedy of yours. He expressed 
himself most enthusiastically on the subject, and 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 21 

even went so far as to say that it was worth all 
Aristophanes and himself had ever written, put to- 
gether ; though I confess I can hardly agree with 
him there. 

W. the Elder. School for Scandal ! Why it is 
no longer than last night, either, that I saw it most 
charmingly rendered, at our own little pet Lyceum. 
I've got the bill in my pocket now. Here it is ; 
[reads], Lady Teazle, Miss Laura Keene ; and a 
sweet, lady-like actress she is, too ; Sir Peter, Mr. 
Blake ; but take the document, my dear boy, and 
examine it at your leisure. 

Sher. Really, my dear friends, temporal and spir- 
itual, this is very polite and pleasant in you, but I 
shall never get to the end of my story. 

Ale. Go on, go on. 

Sher. Well, I was about saying, that I was listen- 
ing to the rehearsal of the play in question, by a 
most clever set of performers, and in the Iroquois 
version, when 

Ale. What, what, what ? Iroquois — I never heard 
of any such language as that. 

JSher. Whimsiculo has, though. Have you not, 
my good friend ? 

W. the Elder. Most unquestionably, though I 
confess I am not particularly well posted up in it, or 
in its literature. I had an impression, too, that it 



22 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

was not a written language. Now I think of it, I 
did once hear the Lord's prayer in that dialect ; but 
to say truth (and not to speak it irreverently), it 
sounded to me far more like a pack of crackers, go- 
ing off under a tin kettle, than like an invocation to 
the throne of grace. But how in the name of won- 
der, came that to be the language of the luminary 
in question ? 

Sher. That's the very interrogatory that I pro- 
pounded to the manager myself, and he gave me the 
following lucid explanation. It seems that, from 
time immemorial, this particular portion of said 
luminary, has been set apart, as the receptacle and 
general place of rendezvous of the ghosts of the red 
men of America ; that among those ghosts, came, 
not many years since, the august spectre of that re- 
nowned sachem and warrior of the woods, Monkey- 
Jacket. 

W. the Elder. Monkey-Jacket ? no, no, no : you 
mean Red-Jacket. 

ISher. Red-Jacket, Red-Jacket — absurd blunder, 
to be sure. It seems that the said Red-Jacket, a 
few short moons before his departure from his 
earthly lodgings, was the guest of the corporation 
of the good city of Boston ; that during his visit, 
he was invited to attend the Tremont Theatre of that 
metropolis ; he did so ; it so happened that the 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 23 

School for Scandal was the prominent feature of the 
evening's entertainments. The chief, who is said to 
have been one of the most accomplished musicians, 
and finest linguists of his time, was fortunately 
q-uite himself, throughout the performance ; a cir- 
oUmstance the more extraordinary (so said the mana- 
ger), seeing that even his warmest admirers have 
been compelled to admit, that the latter portion of 
his terrestrial pilgrimage was pretty much one con- 
tinual scene of intoxication. On this occasion, how- 
ever, he heartily relished and warmly applauded the 
piece, not letting a single joke escape him. In a 
word, when shortly after transferred from this mun- 
dane sphere to the luminary before-mentioned, he 
took with him, in memory, the entire comedy ; he 
would often repeat passages, and parts of scenes 
from it, to his brother ghosts, and was finally pre- 
vailed upon to give them a complete memoriter copy, 
in the Iroquois, which had ever been his favorite dia- 
lect on earth ; from this copy they had gradually 
prepared the entertainment in question, and had in- 
vited me to be present. It only remains to add, that 
the performers were nearly through the screen- 
scene, and that I was in the midst of making a sHght 
suggestion to the manager, when our host's light- 
ning-messenger arrived. Such, my dear Alcibiades, 



24 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

IS a most truthful and circumstantial answer to your 
question. Are you satisfied ? 

Ale. Perfectly. But after all, what signifies it, 
whence we came, or whither we are going ? Are 
we not here, in sprightly Gotham, and under the 
hospitable roof of our old friend 7 Let's enjoy the 
present, then, and hope for many such pleasant re- 
unions, in the same agreeable quarters. 

W. the Elder. With all my heart, and I hope to 
have the pleasure, not only of your company, but of 
that of a good many other spectral notabilities, pro- 
vided they will condescend to honor my humble roof. 
And now, my lads, to supper. I think I can show 
you something in the terrapin department, that 
would make even a French artist stare ; not to 
speak of' a certain Sauterne, that I defy any cellar 
.of any planet of any system to beat. 

Sher. You greatly pique our ghostly curiosity. 
Allons done. [Exeunt.] 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 25 



HENRY DANDOLO— PETER STUY- 
VESANT. 

Dan, My dear old Dutch friend and pitcher, and 
brother-hero, how are you, how are you ? 

W. the Elder. Why, gentlemen, you seem to be 
old acquaintances. 

Dan. Not at all, not at all. Never did my eye 
light on my ghostly brother, till this most fortunate 
moment. But didn't I know him, in a twinkling, 
from the description ? Didn't I say to myself, the 
very first glimpse I caught of the old silver leg and 
the brimstone colored breeches, congratulate thyself, 
old Harry Dandolo, congratulate thyself, for here 
Cometh no less a personage than the illustrious 
Hardkopping Piet, the doughty governor of New 
Amsterdam, the immortal hero of Fort Christina ; 
he of the hard head and the warm heart ; he that 



26 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

was so given to egg-cracking and kruller-munching 
when a boy ; who used so to walk into the cherry- 
bounce and the cookies of a New Year's Day ; he 
who afterwards governed and negotiated, and fought, 
and bled, for the rights of his many breechesed 
brethren, and many-petticoated sisters of Manahat- 
toes ; who, in the evening of his days, fought his 
battles over again so pleasantly, over his pipe and 
his schnapps, by the hospitable fireside of the old 
Bowery farm house. You see, Peter, I know all 
about you. 

Stuy. By the pipe of St. Nicholas, thou amazest 
me. What is the meaning of all this ? 

Dan. Why, what should be the mystery ? Haven't 
I heard all the particulars, time and again, from the 
lips of the famous Diedrich himself? Haven't I 
read them all, in his renowned history, that most au- 
thentic and delicious volume, whereat the ghosts of 
half the planets of creation have already haw-hawed, 
till they were sore j that bundle of fun and fancy, 
that 

Stiiy. What, do you mean to tell me that I have 
become the laughing stock of the universe, because 
of the libels of that little rascally wizen-faced dried- 
up stump of a Knickerbocker ? D under and Blix- 
um ! 

Dan. Libels, Peter, libels ? I don't understand 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 27 

you. Surely, no libellous thought was ever hatched 
in the brain, much less ever dropped from the lips 
or the pen of the dear old historian of Scaghtikoke. 
You're wrong, my friend, quite wrong. He has 
drawn a most delightful and loveable picture of you. 

Still/. He has run his rigs upon me and mine, in 
the most impertinent and scandalous manner. 

Dan. Innocent frolic, my old boy, innocent frolic. 

Stiiy. Well, well, I don't care so much about the 
matter, myself; but some of my kinsfolk and de* 
scendants, I hear, have taken it a good deal to heart. 

Dan. Why should they ? My dear friend, I as- 
sure you, on the word of an honest, independent 
ghost, no such thought ever crossed my mind, while 
grinning over the dear volume. Ah, no, there's no 
malice in that mirth — but downright, hearty, kindly, 
irresistible fun. But to change the subject, which, 
I see, is not altogether agreeable, how, in the name 
of all the saints of all the stars, is it, Peter, that 
we have never bumped spiritual noses together be- 
fore ? 

Stuy. Well, I hardly know how it is. We Dutch, 
men and ghosts, you know, were never much given 
to gadding, but have always preferred cloud-browing 
at home, and other fireside comforts. Why, will 
you believe it, Hans, this is positively my first visit 



28 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

to my native town and colony, since I was here in 
the flesh, two hundred years ago ! 

Dan. Body of Bacchus ! you don't tell me so ! 

Stay. Even so. It is but a ^Yeekago, that I com- 
menced my exploring rambles, and most of the time 
under the guidance of our hospitable friend here. 

W. the Elder. Yes, and what do you think, Dan- 
dolo, the very first thing Peter insisted upon seeing, 
was his own tombstone. I had to humor him, of 
course. So off we trudged, post-haste, raining as it 
Avas, to St. Mark's. 

Dan. St. Mark's, why that's the church my pew 
was in. while on earth. 

W. the Elder. Yes, but let me tell you, my dear 
Doge, that your Yenetian St. Mark's isn't to be spo 
ken of in the same century with its Second Avenue 
namesake. 

Dan. I don't doubt it. But what said Peter ? 
What said the ex-governor ? Modest ghost that he 
is, he was of course much embarrassed at the glow- 
ing language of the inscription. I know how I felt, 
when I was, for the first time, confronted with the 
fibs that they chiselled over my old carcass in Santa 
Sophia. 

W. the Elder. Well, between ourselves, I rather 
think Peter was somewhat mortified at the exceed- 
ing brevity and costiveness of the statement over 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 29 

him. as well as at the painfully evident apathy of 
the sexton. Was it not so, Pietro 

^tuy. It ^as. Had 1 been a fish-monger, they 
could hardly have handed me over to oblivion, more 
nnceremoniously. 

Dan. The ungrateful creatures ! That's not the 
■way we do things in Italy, I assure you. Nay, we 
have uniformly, from the days of Romulus, made it 
a strict point of honor, after cuflBng and kicking and 
tormenting our best benefactors and patriots, till 
they were right glad to be off, to make it all up to 
them most handsomely, at last, by right copious and 
classical acknowledgments, in marble. But tell us, 
now, Peter ; you must have been completely over- 
whelmed with surprise and delight, at the marvelous 
changes and improvements that have come off in 
your beloved New Amsterdam, since you had 
stumped about in it, in the body. 

Sluy. Well, not so much so as I anticipated. I 
have been, on the whole, rather disappointed. To 
be sure, there have been some changes. The town 
covers a few more acres than it did, in my day. 
There is a decided increase of dwellings and of 
meeting-houses. There is, unquestionably, more 
business transacted on 'change, and at the custom- 
house. There is a greater sprinkling of Yankees, 
and other foreigners. We certainly had no Opera, 



30 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

either, under my administration. But with these 
exceptions, and a fe«^ other small novelties, such as 
steamboats, and railroads, and telegraphs, and other 
similar trifles, I do not see those evidences of pro- 
gress, that I should have anticipated from the enter- 
prising spirit of my cotemporaries. 

Dan. Why, you amaze me. The coolness of your 
reply is perfectly inexplicable. I shall begin to 
think my friend Knickerbocker was not so authentic 
and veracious a chronicler, after all. According to 
his version, your whole town might have been stowed 
away in one of the large hotels of the present city. 
Nay, does he not say, explicitly, that two hundred 
and fifty tallow candles would have illuminated the 
whole concern ; and that half a dozen swivels, and a 
barrel or two of gunpowder, would have been ample 
either for its defence or capture ? 

Stuy. I know he does, malignant libeller that he 
is ; and he goes on to say, that a dozen geese would 
have been sufficient to have kept the whole colony 
in quills, for as many years ; and that its whole na- 
val force consisted of a solitary round-bottomed tub 
of a sloop of war, with a few feeble cannons and 
rusty fowling pieces on board ; that our foreign com- 
merce consisted in the occasional visit of a lubberly 
craft from the mother country, loaded with fiery gin 
and cheap crockery ; that our entire coast-wise com- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 31 

merce was carried on in three or four leaky oyster 
boats ; that more letters passed through a single 
hox at the post-office, in a day, in his time, than 
through the whole office, in a month, in mine ; and 
so forth, and so forth. But, my Constantinopolitan 
friend, were you verdant enough to believe, for one 
moment, statements so scandalous, so atrocious ? 

Dan. Well, I hardly know what to say. One 
thing is very certain ; either he has been imposing 
upon his readers, most shamefully, or else, which I 
more than half suspect, you are undertaking to play 
the same game upon me. Which is it, now, old ten- 
breeches, which is it ? 

Stuy. What, do you mean to say, that 

W. the Elder. Come, come, now, Peter, confess, 
confess. You are quizzing. Yes, my dear friend, 
our good ex-governor here, has been in a perfect gale 
of excitement, the whole week ; completely carried 
away with the w^onderful and splendid things I have 
been showing him. He has been talking of no- 
thing else, day and night, and at all hours of 
the night, and has been teazing me continually to 
go here, there, and everywhere ; in fine, has been 
thumping about, with that old silver-mounted leg of 
his, like a very Rochester knocker. Y^ou needn't 
look so solemn, Peter ; you know I speak the truth. 

Stuy. Fibs, fibs, fibs. 



32 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. How can you say so? Why, 
Dandolo, it was on]y yesterday that we were at the 
High Bridge together, and at the Reservoirs, and I 
never saw a ghost go on so, before. Such delight, 
such rapture ! And so at every place ; at Green- 
wood, at the Atlantic Dock, at Castle Garden, at the 
Astor, and all along our thronged and tumultuous 
Broadway : one eternal string of questions and ex- 
clamations ! He would insist upon seeing every- 
thing, from the Collins' Steamers down to Colt's 
Revolvers ; from the Metropolitan down to the Pew 
ter Mug. Nay more, spiritual cripple that he is, he 
would hobble up to the top of Trinity steeple, where 
he kept me two mortal hours, prattling about the 
Battery, as it was in his time, and Corker's Hook, 
and Pawlus' Hook, and Gibbet Island, and Quaog, 
and Patchogue, and the Connecticut Moss Troopers, 
and heaven knows what besides. Especially did he 
contrast his own little, long ago extinct, parish church 
of St. Nicholas, (which he was sadly puzzled to lo- 
cate,) with the superb cathedral below us. Come, 
Peter, do tell our Venetian brother here, all about it. 

Stui/. Oh, I can't begin to do it. It would take 
at least ten encyclopaedias to do justice to my feel- 
ings. 

Dan. But of all the things you have seen, my 
friend, what, on the whole, gratified you the most ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 33 

Stuy. My own portrait, in the Governor's room 
of the Hotel de la Ville ; though, to be sure, I didn't 
recognize it, at first. That, and another master- 
piece with my name attached to it, at Barniim's 
Louvre. 

Dan. Ah, by Rembrandt? 

f^tiiy. No, by Jenkins : in his first manner, before 
he had faiily emancipated himself from the shackles 
of the Sincj-Sino; school. 

W. the Elder. Oh, Peter, do be serious. Do tell 
Harry about our trip to Hell Gate, and Williams- 
burgh, and Brooklyn, that little babe of a place, (as 
you said,) when you last saw it, that stately queen 
of a city that you now find it ; tell him how you stood 
spell-bound, on the Heights, lost in admiration of 
the magnificent panorama before you ; tell him how 
astounded you were at the improvements at Com- 
munipaw ; tell him how curiously you eyed, and how 
decidedly you relished that mint-julep at the Carlton ; 
how you smoked and stared, and stared and smoked, 
at the Telegraph ofiice, in the vain attempt to de- 
cypher the mystery thereof. Tell him how you en- 
joyed yourself last night, at Burton's, even untoob- 
streperousness, nay, almost unto expulsion, while 
watching the eccentric proceedings of Toodle. Tell 
him how bewildered you were by Fraulein Soto's 
cachucha, and how profoundly impressed by Alboni's 



34 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



rendering of Rhode's Variations. But above all, 
dear Peter, tell liim of our trip up the Hudson ; 
with what delight you gazed upon the fleet of gallant 
ships and steamers, from all the corners of the earth ; 
how forgetting yourself for a moment, you inquired 
of an aged colored wood-sawyer, on the way to the 
boat, what dock the Albany schooners started from, 
and how, supposing you drunk or crazy, he vouch- 
safed no answer ; how you hobbled around among the 
hotel-coaches and express-wagons ; how you consign- 
ed an impertinent news-boy to the pit without a bot- 
tom ; what owl-like looks you gave the machinery, 
after we had crot aboard : how vou were lookins; out 
for Bloomingdale, long after we had passed Spuyten 
Deyvel : how completely astounded and petrified you 
were, at the interminable procession of sloops and 
schooners and barges and propellers, that we met 
and passed continuallv : how vou looked, when that 
cattle train, half a mile long, whizzed by us, just be- 
low Yonkers ; Eow charmed vou were with all the 
pretty towns and villas and gardens ; how you long- 
ed to go ashore at Xyack, and investigate the where- 
abouts of some orchards that you remembered rob- 
bing, when a boy ; how you guffawed, when we came 
abreast of Anthony's Xose ; how you blasphemed 
about the missing sour-crout at dinner ; what capers 
vou cut. when the blessed old Kaatskills hove in 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 35 

sight ; how you whistled, as the words Rip Yan 
"Winkle, caught your eye. at the stern of a safety- 
barge ; and how supremely bewildered and delight- 
ed you were, shortly after, when you saw your own 
iionored name on the guards of a magnificent new 
steamer, all dressed out in flags, and crowded with 
passengers ; how — but what's the matter with our 
friend Dandolo, all of a sudden ? he looks unwell. 

Stuy. Why, Harry, my boy, you are not well- 
How sad and distressed you look. What's the mat- 
ter? 

Dan. Ah, Peter, I am sad. I am distressed. But 
let me explain myself While our mutual friend 
here, was rehearsing your recent pleasant journey, 
sorrowful thoughts came suddenly over my soul, and 
I could not forbear contrastino^, with mingled ano'uish 
and bitterness of spirit, ^our different experiences. 
You, Peter, left your loved Gotham, a tender plant, 
skirting the southern borders of your pleasant is- 
land : with the elements of growth in it, certainly ; 
still, an obscure, peaceful spot, little dreaming of the 
magnificent future that was in store for it. You re- 
turn, and find it a stately metropolis, teeming with 
life and beauty and energy, and fast becoming the 
leadino' citv of the earth. Xow mark the difference. 
When I left Venice for the land of spirits, she had 
almost reached the consummation of her glory. 



36 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Boundless her wealth, world-wide her commerce (at 
least as we then knew the world.) invincible her 
power ; the mistress of the seas, the arbitress of na- 
tions. You had but to strike the bell of old St. 
Mark's, and a hundred thousand armed men would 
show themselves within an hour. What port knew 
not her galleys, what mart her merchants ? Art, it 
is true, had not yet given her all those magnificent 
palaces ; had not bestov^ed upon her all those ex- 
quisite graces, that afterwards made her the world's 
pride and wonder : still was she a superb, a glorious 
creation. Look at her, now ! Poor, sick, dying city ; 
dying, dying, and scarce a friend left to close her 
eyes ; her government extinguished, her commerce 
all melted away, her citizens in exile, her mansions 
desolate, and her poor self in the clutches of a power, 
alike stupid and malignant. Yes, the scenes that 
in my day were all alive Avith mirth and music, and 
gay pageants, are now as sullen and silent as the 
grave. What right have I, then, to be cheerful ? 
What right have I to be wandering here, even, and 
enjoying your society ? I ought, this very moment, 
to be haunting the scenes of our former glory. I 
ought to appear, this very night, armed cap-a-pie, 
to frown upon, and appal our oppressors, and to 
arouse the drooping spirits of my dear countrymen. 
I ought 



SPIRITUAL VISIT OES. 37 

Stuy. Harry, Harry, my boy, don't take on so. 
This is a sad, an unhappy business, to be sure. But, 
my dear ghost, what good can you do, now ? 'Tis 
all too late, my friend ; the die is cast, the destinies 
will have it so, and poor old Venice must be choked, 
at last, in the slime of her own canals. But cheer 
up, brother spirit, cheer up. And tell us, Hal, how 
long you have been in town, and where are you stop- 
ping? 

Dan. Nearly six weeks. I am putting up at the 
Irving. 

Stuy. The deuce you are. 

Dcuu And pray, where are you ? 

Stuy. At the St. Nicholas. I had a special in- 
vitation from the landlord to be present at its inau- 
guration. 

Dan. Had I known it, I should have certainly 
called on you. But the truth is, I have been but 
little of the time in town. In fact, I have been very 
busy for the last month, exploring the wonders, and 
studying the institutions of this glorious, this Titanic 
republic of yours. I have special reason to remem- 
ber the day of my arrival here, however. It was the 
day of the great Sontag Serenade. 

W. the Elder. Indeed, and did you assist at that 
beautiful tribute to genius ? 

Dan. I did ; and, what is more, I inadvertently 



38 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

wore a white hat, on the occasion, as did my brother- 
ghost who accompanied me ; two superb Rocky 
Mountain beavers, which we had purchased, that 
very afternoon, at Leary's. We were standing to- 
gether, at a somewhat advanced hour of the night, 1 
remember, directly under the balcony of the hotel of 
the Queen of Song, waiting patiently for the music, 
and discussing the merits of Jenny Lind ; when, in 
the twinkling of an eye, we were both, most uncere- 
moniously, bereft of the aforesaid beavers. Alike 
angry and mortified, I inquired of a terrestrial neigh- 
bor, the meaning of this extraordinary proceeding. 
He simply replied, that it was a part of the cere- 
mony, a time-honored custom here, whenever such 
summer evening entertainments were made public. 
Why, then, said I, was it not so stated in the pro- 
gramme ? Then my friend and myself could have 
provided ourselves with cheap substitutes. As it is, 
we have been flung out of six dollars a piece, by the 
operation. A horse-laugh was his only reply. So 
home we trudged, feeling like fools, and contracting 
obstinate colds in our spiritual heads besides, which 
we have not got rid of yet. But, my friends, I am 
afraid I shall have to break up our colloquy. 

Stuy. Why so ? 

Dan. Why, the fact is, the Chicago River and 
Harbor Convention meets now, in about two minutes 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 39 

and a half, and I have promised to be present, and 
to lay before the meeting, some very valuable and 
interesting statistics, concerning the commerce of 
Venice, in the 12th century. So, good-bye. 

W. the Klder. I am really very sorry for this, for 
I was on the point of asking you, to tell friend Peter, 
all about your capture of Constantinople. 

Stuy. Some other time, my dear fellow. Besides, 
what was that affair, after all, alongside of his own 
magnificent capture of Fort Christina ? But I must 
positively be off. So, farewell, friends. 

Da7i» Heaven be with you. [Exeunt.) 



40 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



RUBENS.— COLE. 

Rubens. Need I say liow charmed I am to meet 
my brother student of Nature, in the metropolis 
that he hath embellished with so many lovely pic- 
tures ? 

Cole. Really, my dear friend, you flatter me. 
Such praise from such an artist is 

Riih. Is the simple truth. Pardon my interrupt- 
ing you thus, but I spoke from a most hearty and 
profound admiration. 'Twas but yesterday, my 
dear ghost, that I saw your masterpiece, the "Course 
of Empire." He, who put that poem on canvas, 
must not be too modest. Charming, charming work ! 
I had the day before been to see some of your land- 
scapes, and was delighted. I speak not merely of 
your transcripts from your own wild, fresh America, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 41 

nor of your compositions, but also of your most fe- 
licitous renderings of Italian, and Greek, and Swiss, 
and Sicilian, and English scenes. All, all alike 
truthful and beautiful. Kenilworth, by the way, my 
friend, was no ivy-dressed ruin, but a sumptuous 
palace in my time ; and some of those stately oaks 
that you have introduced in your sketch of Windsor, 
I am confident, were not there, when I had the honor 
of waiting on his Majesty King Charles. Ah ! dear, 
it seems a thousand ages since then. Your '-Voy- 
age of Life," too, and your " Past and Present," and 
above all, your '• Departure and Return," delighted 
me. The tender sentiment that pervades this last, 
fairly brought the tears to my eyes. Brother 
Claude must look to his laurels. With all his glow- 
ing skies, and limpid waves, he hasn't a tenth part 
of your invention. He never read any such beauti- 
ful lessons, never preached any such glorious sermons 
as your pencil has, from the great volume of nature. 
No. nor Salvator, with all his fire and romance. 

Cole. Why, you surprise, even more than you 
gratify me. To be told this, too, by one himself so 
illustrious, the prince of colorists, the brilliant, the 
versatile Rubens, the Flemish Raphael, as we all 
call you ; it is, indeed, far beyond my humble merits, 

Ruh. iNot at all. I say again, I speak the sim- 
ple truth. I am no flatterer, and if I were, I should 



42 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

not dare to approach you with any such language. 
Your ingenuous nature,- 1 know, holds in utter scorn 
aufi^ht that savors of flatterv or falsehood. 

Cole. May I inquire, seeing that this is our first 
meeting, into the origin of your good opinion ? 

Rah. Certainly. It comes in part, then, (and you 
must excuse my being thus personal,) from irresisti- 
ble first impressions, but more especially, from the 
statements of our mutual friend, Alston. 

Cole. What, my dear brother Alston ? 

Ruh. The same. He has told me all about you; 
your toils, your struggles, the slow, but sure recog- 
nition of your genius by your countrymen, and your 
ultimate brilliant success. He told me many inter- 
esting things, too, of your country and its heart-stir- 
ring history, and also of this pleasant metropolis, 
that I now, thanks to the kind invitation of our honor- 
ed friend and medium here, am visiting for the first 
time. 

Cole. But, do tell me, where is our dear friend? 
I have been most anxious to meet and confer with 
him. Is it long since you met ? 

Ruh. No, quite recently. I am surprised that 
you have not found out your compatriot, long since. 
He is now in Herschel, and hard at work, I can as 
sure you. 

Cole. May I ask the subject of his labors? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 43 

Ruh. He is busy painting the plafonds of a suite 
of apartments in the superb palace, belonging to his 
illustrious brother Herschelian, and former fellow- 
countryman, whom they called on earth Alexander 
Hamilton. 

Cole. Ah ! I am delighted to hear you say so. 
But what is the design ? Something grand, of 
course. 

Ruh. Magnificent, magnificent. But I am not at 
liberty to divulge it. To say truth, he wishes to 
surprise the good people of that planet. Even his 
own patron hasn't yet ventured to take a peep at it. 
One thing the artist told me, however ; that nothing 
he had done on this ball, could give one any idea of 
its merits : a statement, by the way, which I intend 
to verify, in prop?^io spiritti, before leaving the 
hemisphere. And whom do you suppose he has for 
a neighbor? No less a ghost than Titian himself 
Hardly a day passes without his consulting him up- 
on the work ; and he in turn, has given Titian a 
good many valuable suggestions, relative to the still 
more arduous task, on which he is himself encrasred. 

Cole. And pray, what may that be ? 

Rub. The entire supervision of a superb cathe 
dral, destined, when completed, to be by all odds, the 
finest in the system. Every portion of the work, 
architecture, sculpture, painting and decorations, are 



44 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



to be after designs by the great master. A colossal 
undertaking, is it not? He has been at it now most 
faithfully for the last two years, and there is a world 
of work to be done yet. 

W. the Elder. Two years? Why that don't 
seem to me such a long time, for a job like that you 
speak of. 

Iti{b. You forget, my dear friend ; we are talking 
of Herschelian years, every one of which is a good 
deal more than threescore and ten of your little ter- 
restrial ones. 

W. the Elder. True, true ; I ask pardon. You 
don't happen, by the way, to have a Herschel Alma- 
nac in your spiritual pocket, do you ? 

Rub. I am sorry to say I have not. Here is last 
week's Georgiurn Sidiis Advocate^ though. Per- 
haps you may find something interesting in it. 

W. the Elder. Thank you, thank you, (^pocketing 
the paper). But I must apologise for this interrup- 
tion. You were about saying 

Riih. True ; I was just about remarking to my 
dear brother here, how often I have since regretted 
that I did not devote more of my earthly hours to 
that walk of art in which he has won such laurels. 
I always had a hankering for it, and the few land- 
scapes I did paint, such as they are, I painted with 
real relish. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 45 

Cole. I have often wished myself that you had 
given the world more of them. But of course you 
had to consult the wishes of your patrons. 

Rub. Yes, confound them, and they would insist, 
quite too often, either on stupid allegories, or else on 
mere voluptuous pictures. Ah ! my dear Cole, I 
am afraid there are quite too many things of mine 
even noAV on earth, that are doing no good to the 
morals of the rising generation. I am quite ashamed 
of myself, when I think how much of my time and 
canvas I expended upon leering nymphs and drunken 
satyrs, and such like abominations. 

Cole. Ah ! you judge yourself too harshly, my 
friend. There certainly are things that you had 
better have left alone, but when I consider the whole 
course of your career on earth, these few exceptional 
works seem mere spots upon the sun. Yes, when I 
call to mind your magnificent Scripture-pieces, your 
superb historical works, your matchless portraits, 
your grand draperies, your delicious combinations of 
colors, I am lost in amazement at the fertility and 
facility of your genius. 

Rub. My conscience loill smite me, though at 
times. And the kindness of your criticism only re- 
minds me, how far you surpass me in this regard. 
No impure or unworthy thought disfigures any per- 



46 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

formance of yours ; certainly none that I have yet 
seen. 

Cole. Yes, but then, my friend, I was not tempt- 
ed as you were. I had no such versatility to lead 
me astray ; still less, such rich, powerful and capri- 
cious patrons. It is not so easy to disobey the or- 
ders of crowned heads, you know. 

Rub. Pretty silly and worthless ones, between 
ourselves, too many of them, crowned though they 
were. I w^ish to heaven I had been out, studying 
the fair face of nature, or exploring the windings of 
some such glorious river as this Hudson of yours, in- 
stead of wasting so much paint and labor as I did, on 
that worthless Medici Gallery. 

Cole. And yet, the master's hand is visible through- 
out it. Every student of his art would be very sor- 
ry to lose it, I can tell you. But how came you, my 
friend, to mix up Christendom and Heathendom, so 
strangely in it, and I must add, so unjustifiably ? 

Rub. Well, I hardly know how to answer your 
question. The truth is, my dear Cole, in all my 
performances, both before and since leaving earth, I 
have been governed quite too much by impulse, and 
too little by rule. I seem to have painted from the 
very start because I couldn't help it. Before 1 was 
fairly out of my earthly long-clothes, I remember 
going at it, and executing portraits of dogs and cats, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 47 

and cabbages ; everything, in short, that came in 
my way. And so throughout my terrestrial career. 
I must always be painting something, no matter 
what, from the gaping watermelon of my garden, up 
to the monarch that I served ; from the plump, rud- 
dy matrons around me, up to the saints and seraphs 
of my dreams. Such was the Lord's will ; such his 
commission to me, not only on earth, but in other 
worlds ; and even now, my friend, it makes me quite 
unhappy to lose a day from my studio. 

Cole. I sympathize with you most heartily, my 
dear spirit. But to come down to our worthy host's 
day and generation ; may I ask how long you have 
been in town ? 

Riih, It is just ten days since I arrived, and most 
of the time has been spent in the company of Whim- 
siculo here, who, I need not tell you, has been all 
attention. A lovely city, truly, this Gotham of yours. 
We have nothing in Flanders, and never had, to 
compare with it. I believe we have explored pretty 
much all the prominent lions, have we not, "VV. 1 

W. the Elder. Well, we have been pretty busy. 

Cole. You looked in at the Dusseldorf Gallery, 
of course. 

Ruh. Oh, yes ; some charming things there ; 
though, as a whole, I must say, I do not altogether 
like the spirit that pervades that school. They 



48 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

seem to me to waste their strength on trifles ; finish- 
ing the accessories of their scenes with painful mi- 
nuteness, and sadly neglecting the actors themselves, 
and then their landscapes appear equally full of 
superfluous finery, and equally devoid of genuine 
feeling. Don't you agree with me ? 

Cole. I certainly do. though somewhat of a sinner 
in that way myself Less elaboration and more 
sentiment would improve them all. But have you 
been to the Bryan Gallery ? 

Ruh. I have ; more than once, too. 
Cole. An admirable collection, isn't it ? 
Ruh. Indeed it is. Not so grand or costly, of 
course, as many that I have seen in my day, nor so 
valuable as the one I myself owned, when in the 
flesh, and which I sold, most unwillingly, I remem- 
ber, to that scamp, the Duke of Buckingham ; still 
a charming assemblage, and full of gems. 

Cole. You recognized a good many old acquaint- 
ances in the gallery, did you not ? 

Rub. Oh, yes ; the first thing that my eyes lit 
upon, was brother Hemling's '• Marriage of St. 
Catherine ;" quite an old picture, in my day, and 
certainly a most charming one. I always loved the 
placid beauty of his saints, and the orderly group- 
ing of his angels ; very difi'erent from my tumultu- 
ous style. And right under him, I recognised no 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 49 

less a hand than my old fellow-townsman, Matsys, 
though, to be sure, he died fifty years before I was 
born. Many a time have I played tag round his 
wall in Antwerp, when a boy. And right alongside 
of him was brother Mabuse, too, with his exquisite- 
ly finished little pictures. Old acquaintances, say 
you ? Lots of them ; not merely my own pupils and 
countrymen, either ; but there are works here that 
I remember distinctly having seen in the studios, 
both of my Spanish friend Velasquez, and of my 
most illustrious and amiable Italian brother, Do- 
menichino. 

Cole. By the way, what a sweet little picture that 
is of his ; I mean the " St. Paul carried up to Hea- 
ven by angels ;" between ourselves, I think it the 
gem of the collection. 

Ruh» I don't know but what I agree with you. 
It certainly is a most spirited and expressive thing. 
How it contrasts with the wooden uniformity of 
some of its Byzantine neighbors ; and even with 
those of Cimabue and Giotto. Is it not perfectly 
amazing, my dear friend, to think of the triumphs 
achieved by our art, in two little centuries ? Con- 
trast the most insignificant performance of our an- 
gelic brother, Raphael, with even the masterpiece, 
of Guido of Sienna, for instance, and what a world- 
wide difference ! But to return to our saint. His 



50 SPIKITUAL VISITOKS. 

is, indeed, a most noble and animated figure. What 
a face, too ! Alive "with joy and expectation ; none 
of your pallid, indiiBerent looking creatures, that 
disfigure too many of our Assumptions ; who seem 
to care as little about the heaven to which they are 
ascending, as about the earth which they are leav- 
ing ; no, no ; he is, indeed, entering into the joy of 
his Lord. I do not know that I ever met with a 
picture, my dear Cole, that so admirably illustrated 
that fine old Scripture phrase, as this does. 

Cole. Why, do you know that that same idea oc- 
curred to me, while looking at it ? But, my friend, 
you say nothing about your own performances in the 
collection. You surely don't mean to disavow 
them? 

Ruh. Disavow them? no, indeed. What should 
put that idea in your head ? 

Cole. Well, I have no doubts, myself, on the sub- 
ject. But you need not be told, my dear brother, of 
the innumerable quackeries and falsehoods that have 
disgraced the great majority of picture-gatherers, 
in all stars and ages. 

Riih. Alas, it is too true. Had I myself painted 
one-hundredth part of the earthly pictures attribu- 
ted to me, I would have wanted the years of Methu- 
saleh, and the hands of Briareus besides. But there 
can be no mistake here, my friend. I remember dis- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 51 

tinctly the circumstances connected "with the execu- 
tion of the works in question. 

W. the Elder. Ah, do tell us, my honored guest, 
do tell us. It is indeed pleasant, in this world of 
mysteries and misgivings, now and then to have a 
fact authenticated, direct from spiritual head-quar- 
ters. Tell us all about it. 

Rub. Well, I don't mean to say that I can give 
you the minute particulars, at this distance of time. 
I can recall the Susanna, however, very clearly, and 
the rich old burgher of Antwerp, for whom I painted 
it ; as amiable an old fellow as I ever knew, but 
somewhat too much given to jollity and grossness. 
He would insist on having his wife, (a fine portly 
figure, much stouter, indeed, than I have made her,) 
painted in this character. I suggested putting her 
in a Holy Family, but he wouldn't listen to it, and 
so the poor thing and myself both had to submit. 
The Elders are portraits of two Ecclesiastics of the 
town, notorious hypocrites and sensualists in their 
day, and especially obnoxious to my plain-spoken old 
friend. On the whole, I regret having painted the 
picture. 

Cole. To be candid with you, it is not at all to 
my taste. But the St. Catherine I was charmed 
with. 

Rub. Bless her sweet saintship. I remember that 



52 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

I took great pleasure in painting her. I remember, 
too, how my friends congratulated me on the per- 
formance : they said I had surpassed myself on the 
occasion. I had quite a talk -with the proprietor, 
about this picture, wherein he explained to me the 
circumstances of his ownership ; and I must say, 
my dear friend, that while I might have preferred 
that it should have remained in its native land, I am 
quite delighted that it has fallen into such good 
hands. The cordial, appreciative way in which he 
spoke about it, was most flattering to my ghostly 
vanity. Indeed, he took me all through the collec- 
tion, and I found his remarks alike agreeable and 
instructive. 

Cole. But tell me, Rubens, did you really paint 
the Hercules? 

Ruh. I am inclined to think so, though I cannot 
exactly locate it, as you New Englanders say. I 
certainly must have had a hand in it. Let me see. 
Now I think of it, I do recall it. Yes, yes, I had 
begun upon the hero, I remember, when I was sud- 
denly called away from town to my chateau, for a 
day or two, to entertain some dear friends at Mantua ; 
on my return, how surprised and delighted was I to 
find the piece finished by my scholars. Jordaens, 
whom you of course remember, as one of the best of 
them, completed the Hercules, while Snyders, silent, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 53 

rapid worker that he was. made short work with the 
lion. 

Cole. Bat that little landscape, under the Susan- 
na — 

Rub. Ah. YOU noticed that, did you? 

Cole. Indeed I did. A most spirited, suggestive 
thing it is, too. 

Ritb. I am right glad to hear it thus spoken of 
by the first landscape-painter of his day. Yes. my 
friend. I well remember dashing off that little thing. 
I was in fine spirits at the time, I tell you. Why it 
was only two davs before mv marriasje with mv sec- 
ond wife, my sweet, loving, lovely Helen. I think 
you will find some of the painters glee transferred 
to his canvas, in this instance. 

Cole. Yes, indeed. No dull brain, or unhappy 
disposition could have ever given birth to a thing 
like that. But what's the matter with our host ? 
He seems to be in a brown study. 

Rub. Holloa, landlord, a srninea for vour thoughts. 

TF. the Elder. A doubloon, and thev are vours. 
But seriously, friends, I was thinking how improba- 
ble it was. that I should ever acrain have the honor 
of entertainins: two such illustrious £:hosts. at mv 
humble lodorinsrs. 

Rub. Don't say that, my old friend, don't say that. 
But, Whimsiculo. youll soon be a ghost yourself. 



54 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

you know. You are pretty near the end of your 
terrestrial rope, old gentleman. Don't that frosty 
pow of yours tell you as much, when you shave o' 
mornings ? And then, my boy, we shall be better 
acquainted, I hope. 

W. the Elder. By the way, Rubens, there is one 
of our metropolitan lions that I have neglected show- 
ing you. 

Rub. And what may that be ? 

W. the Elder. Had you left town without seeing 
it, I should never have forgiven myself. 

Bub. What is it, what is it ? 

W. the Elder. Why, it is no less a thing than 
that magnificent series of pictures, that commemo- 
rates the virtues of the renowned Mustang Lini- 
ment. Brother Cole must forgive me, for speaking 
plainly. — He knows I am a warm admirer of his. I 
have gazed with delight on his " Voyage of Life" and 
" Course of Empire," many a long day in summer ; 
but it would be gross flattery to him, to compare 
either of those series with the wonderful group of 
tableaux in question. Such coloring, such composi- 
tion, such — 

Hub. Keep your feet, my dear friend, keep your 
feet. You are really the most impulsive gray-beard 
I ever met. But if the work you speak of is so 
very wonderful, we must make a point of seeing it, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 55 

the first tiling in the morning. Meanwhile, I must 
be off. 

W. the Elder. Off? 

JRtib. Don't be alarmed. I shall be back to sup- 
per. I have only a short call to make; a q.uadril- 
lion of leao;ues or so : nothins: more. In fact, I have 
promised to put my name on the back of a piece of' 
paper, for a brother artist, in an adjacent comet ; a 
whole-souled fellow, full of genius, but not so flush 
as he ought to be. He seems to think my endorse- 
ment may be of service to him. and he must have it, 
of course. 

Cole. I must be going, too. 

Rub. Whither away, dear friend? 

Cole. Back to my labors. While the light lasts, 
1 wish to put the finishing touches to a picture, that 
I am a ojood deal interested in. 

Rub. May I ask what it is ? 

Cole. Certainly. It is a large landscape, a compo- 
sition, that I design as a present to a valued friend, 
formerly of this very city, and now in heaven. I 
call it " Reminiscences of Earth." It is, indeed, a 
compilation, so to speak, of choice Italian, Swiss, 
and Grecian scenery, with a leaf or two from my 
own loved Kaatskills. 

Rub. I would love dearly to see it. 

Cole. And why not ? It's right on your way. 



56 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Rtib. Yfhy so it is : so let's be off, my friend, at 
once. Adieu landlord; recollect, I shall be back to 
supper. 

W. the Elder. I shall most certainly expect you. 
[Exeutif.] 



67 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



PINDAR— DRAKE. 

Pindar. Welcome, thrice •welcome to our dear 
young brother of Columbia. It is a long time since 
we have had the pleasure of a meeting. 

Drake. It is indeed ; not since that charming en- 
tertainment given bj Hesiod in honor of our friend 
Wordsworth. 

Pin. Even so. A right pleasant gathering it 
was, too, as you say. Such choice spirits don't often 
get together, Drake. 

Drake. You may well say that. Let's see ; there 
was Homer and Cleanthes, and Corinna and Mil- 
ton, and Tasso and Horace, and Byron and Sappho, 
and Shakspeare ; to say nothing of the honored 
guest himself, and our host of a host, and your own 
illustrious hardship. 

Pin, But my dear Drake, what kept you so won- 



58 SPIRITUAL VISITOKS. 

derfully quiet and demure, all the evening? You 
scarce opened your lips, I remember. 

Drake. Did not silence become me best, in the 
presence of such rcnoAvned children of Parnassus ? 

Pin. Ah! you're too modest, by half. The au- 
thor of the Culprit Fay, too, — 

Drake. A trifle, my friend, a mere trifle. 

Pin. A trifle, indeed ! Ah ! had you heard what 
Shakspeare said about it, you — 

Drake. "What, did the great poet himself conde- 
scend to notice it ? 

Pin. To be sure he did. He pronounced it in- 
comparably the finest thing of the kind in his lan- 
guage. His own Queen Mab's chariot (he went on 
to say), he flattered himself was an ingeniously got 
up little contrivance ; but your fairy's boat, and in- 
deed, all his armor and outfit, were far more dainty 
and delicate creations. The whole poem, he added, 
in its conception and execution, reminded him of one 
of those matchless cups of Benvenuto Cellini, so 
prized on earth, wherein the amazing prodigality of 
the artist's fancy was only equalled by the exquisite 
finish of the details. 

Drake. This was, indeed, most kind in him. 

Pin. He meant what he said, too. There was no 
mistaking the cordial enthusiasm of his manner. I 
told him that I asjreedwith him most decidedly, and 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 59 



moreover, that the Midsummer Night's Dream, and 
the Culprit Fay, were stored side by side in the 
chambers of my memory. 

Drake. Why, my dear friend, you quite over- 
^vhelm me. Such praise, and so sanctioned ! To be 
spoken of thus, and by the renowned Pindar him- 
self; Pindar, the prince of poets, and the guest of 
princes ; whose odes have been chanted before ad- 
miring thousands, by the most illustrious youths and 
loveliest virgins of Greece ; the distributor of fame, 
whose verse immortalized whate'er it touched ; 
whose coronation-hymns — 

Pin. Why, holloa, holloa, what are you about ? 
You are paying me off in my own coin, with a ven- 
geance. But to convince you, my dear boy, of the 
sincerity of my admiration, 'twas but a few days 
ago, that I amused myself by turning several pas- 
sages of your charming little poem into Greek. 
Would you like to hear a verse or two ? I confess 
I should be pleased to have your opinion as to the 
merits of the translation. 

Drake. It would gratify me exceedingly. 

Pin. Well then, have at you. [The Razor-strop 
man is heard in the street below. Whimsiciilo 
senior J giveth way to uncontrollable e?7iotion.] Ah ! 
what rival strains are these ? And Avhat on earth 
is the matter with our worthy host here? Dear 



60 SPIKITUAL VISITORS. 

landlord, do compose yourself, and elucidate this 
mystery. 

W. the Elder. I really ask pardon, gentlemen, 
for this most unseasonable and apparently ill-bred 
guffaw. These absurd incongruities, however, will 
occur sometimes in this queer world of ours. 

Phi. But who is this wandering minstrel ? And 
what god or hero's exploits is he commemorating? 

W. the Elder. The bard in question, is our esti- 
mable townsman, Wm. Smith, sole proprietor and 
vender of the Great Columbian Nonpariel Razor- 
strop. He is chanting his customary orphic hymn 
to the masses. Don't stare so, my sweet Swan of 
Thebes, I speak the simple truth ; but listen for 
yourself 

Pin. Verily, it is so. But, my old friend, I did 
not quite catch the purport of the last stanza. 
Bowlegs, Bowlegs — what, in Pluto's name, does he 
mean by Bowlegs ? 

W. the Elder. Oh, yes, yes. He has just been 
telling the crowd, how Rough and Beady, Old Hick- 
ory, Old Chippewa, Old Tippecanoe, "Wellington, 
Kossuth, Soult, Bowlegs, Charles Albert, in fact, all 
the military notabilities of the nineteenth century, 
have tested the merits of the aforesaid strop upon 
their rusty razors, and have sent him grateful epis- 
tles in return. The lines that so impressed you, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 61 

were neither more nor less than the versified state- 
ment of General William Bowlegs, as to its trans- 
cendent virtues. But what say you ? Would you 
like one of the articles ? Only a couple of drachmas. 
Perhaps, you would like an introduction to the min- 
strel himself? You'll find him a right good fellow. 

Pin. Not to-day, my friend. Besides, I do not 
allow any cold steel ever to profane this ghostly 
beard of mine. 

W. the Elder. Well then, now for our little fay. 
I long to see him in his Greek costume. 

Pin. No, no, no ; some other time ; I have no 
idea of entering the lists, or of permitting my friend 
here to do so, against a champion so ' illustrious as 
this, whose strains we are now devouring. Ho 
seems to be moving ofi", though. Ah ! how sweetly 
those dying notes salute my ear. 

Drake. But, my dear Pindar, to revert to our 
friend Hesiod's complimentary supper. Brother 
Wordsworth acquitted himself, on the whole, most 
admirably, did he not ? 

Pin. Indeed he did ; a little stifi" and dignified 
at first, perhaps ; but as he warmed up, he became 
quite charming. Those lines of his, in acknowledg- 
ment of the entertainment, were really delicious ; 
full of feeling, full of fancy 

Drake. I had no idea he was such an improvisa- 



62 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

tore, either. How happily he responded to Corin- 
na's compliments, when she handed him that exqui- 
site bouquet. You remember the circumstance, per- 
haps. 

Pin. As if it were yesterdav. The very flowers 
themselves, seemed to blush afresh, at the pretty 
things he said about them. 

Drake. Xo poet was ever more at home among 
the flowers ; alike the gay belles of the garden, and 
the humble children of the wayside. 

Phi. And then, when Milton's own honored hands 
crowned him with laurels, he looked so serene and 
stately, and modest withal, that I was quite delight- 
ed with him. By the way, how is it that Byron and 
he always fii^'ht so shy of each other? 

Drake. I hardly know why it is. They never 
seem to have agreed, either on earth, or since. 
"What a pity that two such glorious masters and 
profound observers, who have really so much in 
common, should have always misunderstood each 
other. I can't help thinking it is Byron's fault, 
though. A pretty wayward ghost, etitre 12011s : 
very sweet and fascinating at times, very proud and 
moody at others. 

Pin. Poor Byron ! that beautiful face of his is 
quite too often tinged with sadness. Even in his 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. G3 

happiest hours have I seen a gloorD, as black as 
sudden, take possession of his soul. 

Drake. KecoUcctions, doubtless, of his tumultu- 
ous, sorrowful career on earth. He'll soon recover 
his serenity, though, and for good I trust; he'll 
think better of his brother-poet, then. 

Pin. They'll find each other out in time, depend 
upon it. But, friend Drake, do tell us, have you 
been long on the planet, and do you intend making 
anything of a stay ? 

Drake. Only a day or two ; a brief business vis- 
it ; though it has been an exceedingly pleasant one 
thus far. Kever, dear Pindar, did our earth appear 
more beautiful to me, than when it first hove in 
sight this time. Say what you will, and apart from 
all prejudices in its favor, as our honored birth-place, 
there are few finer planets in the heavens. 

Pin. It certainly does hold its own among its 
brother and sister stars. But, what time of day 
was it, and whereabouts were you, when you got the 
first glimpse of it ? 

Drake^ In the morning, and pretty well up to- 
wards the north pole. The first thing I saw was a 
group of magnificent icebergs, glittering like dia- 
monds, and shooting up their splendid spires into 
the heavens. 



64 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Pin. And -what were the first indications of life 
you encountered ? 

Drake. Guess. 

Pin. How should I know. A company of jolly 
bears, waltzing and polking, on a floating cake of 
ice. No ? 

Drake. Ah ! no, my friend ; something far more 
interesting and pathetic than that, I can tell you. 

Pin. What, pray? .^/^-^^ 

Drake. What, but our own dear flag, at the stern 
of as gallant a little craft as — 

Pin. The flag that you have immortalized ? Why, 
that was a pleasant rencontre. 

Drake. It had immortalized itself thrice over, 
long before I had anything to say about it. 

Pin. Modest as usual, I see. But what was it 
doing up in those chilling regions ? Some boundary 
business, I suppose ; some new annexations. Will 
your Yankee nation never be satisfied ? Haven't 
they play-ground enough for their youngsters al- 
ready ? 

W. the Elder. No, sir. We want the entire 
ball, and what's more, we mean to have it. But, I 
ask pardon, my friends, for interrupting you thus. 
My patriotic feelings got the better of me for a mo- 
ment. 

• Drake, No, no, my dear boy, it was on no such 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 65 

errand, I assure you ; no vessel of war, either ; but 
a messenger of peace, sent by a princely merchant 
of this very town ; bound on a mission of love and 
mercy; going in quest of a lost adventurer, whose 
zeal for science had entangled himself and his brave 
crew in those perilous regions. Poor fellows, I fear 
the search is all too late, I fear they have long 
since perished. Gladly would I have accompanied 
the expedition in its beneficent labors, but necessity 
summoned me hither, and so I e'en left them, and 
with my heartiest benediction. 

Pill. Heaven speed them, and may they yet find 
and release their brethren ! What a captivity, what 
an exile from home and kindred ! Brave fellows, 
indeed ; true heroes, far more worthy of the Muses' 
homage, than ninety-nine hundredths of those whose 
praises I sang on earth. Talk of Alexander and 
his Indian conquests, nay, of the labors of Hercules 
himself; what were they, compared with such a 
magnificent crusade against nature, as this ! 

W. the Elder. Such expeditions were not very 
common in your day, brother P., were they ? I ask, 
because I saw no mention made of the use of the 
Globes, in the programme of the Boeotian Acade- 
my^ as advertised in the columns of that Thehaii 
Mirror you were so kind as to lend me. 

Pin. Ko, indeed ; we knew precious little either 



66 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

of the outside or inside of the earth, compared with 
the savans of your generation. Greography was a 
small affair in our schools. It was the grammar, 
my old friend, the grammar, that used to bother us 
boys so ; that used to cost us such terrible thrash- 
inors. But I was about askins; brother Drake if he 
had seen any of his old earthly friends, since his 
arrival ? 

Drake. A few ; I have just returned from Long 
Island, from a call on brother Bryant. 

Pin. What, he who wrote Thanatopsis ; the poem 
that Milton is so fond of quoting, ana that he told 
me, he considered the grandest funeral hymn, that 
had ever been chanted over humanity ? 

Drake. The same ; I am sorry to say, however, 
that I found him writing politics, not poetry 

Pin. Why, the renegade ! To turn his back thus 
upon the Muses, who have behaved so generously 
towards him. 

Drake. Sol told him. 1 scolded him right heart- 
ily, I assure you. " Ah !" said he, " it's of no use 
talkinfT- Your remonstrances come too late. Dis- 
tasteful as this fierce partizan warfare is, and ever 
was to me, I shall never get out of it, I shall die in 
harness. In some brighter and better world, per- 
haps, I may renew my vows, retune my lyre ; not 
here, not here." He smiled as he said this, in a 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 67 

half-playfulj lialf-serious Tvayj that quite moved me. 
I had iust been talkinf' -with mv dear friend Hal- 
leek, and taking him to task for the same offence, 
that very morning. 

Phi. Ah ! and how is brother Bozzaris ? Hearty, 
I trust. Xo true Greek can ever hear /us name 
without pleasure. Tou know how often I have made 
you recite those spirit-stirring lines of his. Fd 
rather have written that ode, than any twenty of 
mine, that I remember. How is he, and what was 
his reply to your charge ? 

Drake. I rejoice to say that I found him right 
well, and as cordial as ever. He laughingly referred 
me to his executors. True, said I, I've no doubt 
thev'll find a irreat manv siems amona: your MSS., 
but why not let them see the lifrht. before vou sro ? 
"Why not let your brethren crown the living man 
with laurels, instead of the cold marble ? 

Pifi. And what did he say to that? 

Drake. He only laughed again, and poured out 
for me a glass of as delicious claret, as ever warmed 
a irhostly stomach, or clarified a ghostly brain. 
" There,'' said he, •• I consider that worth all the 
MSS. that lean book-worms ever bent over, all the 
busts that irritable antiquarians ever squabbled 
about. Taste it, and if vou don't sav it is irood 
enough to set before even our sjreat master Shaks- 



68 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

peare himself, you are not the ghost I take you for." 
Finding the case thus hopeless. I changed the sub- 
ject. But, my dear Pindar, I had far rather listen 
to the story of your adventures, than be repeating 
my own. I am sure they must be far more enter- 
taining. 

Pin. . Not at all ; I have nothing to say for my- 
self, worth listening to. To say truth, I had been 
a very sedentary ghost for some time previous to 
receiving old Medium's note, here. 

Drake. And what has been the nature of your 
studies ? 

Pin. Well, somewhat out of my customary line. 
I have been trying my hand at a comed}^ 

Drake. Indeed ! What do you call it ? 

Pin. The Slow Coach. The principal hero, or 
rather victim thereof, is no other than that ineffable 
bore, Priscian. You know him, of course. 

Drake. Yes, though I never had the pleasure of 
meetino; him. 

Pin. Most fortunate of ghosts ! Heaven spare 
you from any such collision ! 

Drake. You mean, of course, the individual who 
wrote the poem on Weights and Measures. 

Pi7i. The same ; he also, you may remember, put 
the Roman tariff of A. D. 515, into rhyme, and the 
Constantinople Directory of the following year into 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 69 

hexameters ; not to speak of a host of similar nar- 
cotics. The old nuisance has been especially hard 
on me of late ; stopping me in the streets, pouncing 
upon me in lobbies and concert-rooms, and sending 
me eternal copies of his trashy performances. And 
so I was determined at last to have my revenge. 

Drake. You have not been unmerciful, I hope. 

Pin. Well, I must say, I have made him as ridi- 
culous as I could. He certainly performs some won- 
derful feats in the course of the piece. In the very 
first scene, he effectually quiets the nerves of a poor 
patient, with an elegant extract from his epic poem 
of Lucretia, preparatory to the extraction of a couple 
of old aching molars. In the second act, the curtain 
falls on the snores of a sufferer, whom he has put to 
rest with a sino^le stanza from his Tribute to the 
Memory of Epaminondas. In the third act, a learned 
judge sentences a prisoner, duly convicted of arson, 
to the daily recital for six months, of the first speech 
of Ogyges, in his tragedy of that name. In the 
fourth, with ten little lines from his Ode to Duty, he 
triumphantly disperses a crowd, upon which two 
perusals of the Riot Act, followed up by as many 
volleys of darts and javelins, had make no impres- 
sion whatever. "What wonders his Muse is to work 
in the fifth act, I have not yet decided. Couldn't 
you give me a suggestion, my dear friend ? 



70 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Drake. Not I, indeed. Excuse me, too, for say- 
ing, my dear Pindar, that you are altogether too 
cruel in this matter. You ought to have more pa- 
tience "with your feebler-witted brethren ; you — 

Pin. 2s ot sOj not so. There can be no punish- 
ment too severe for such offences. What right has 
the old humbusc to bore and torment me thus ? Let 
him stick to his Syntax. He is only fit to grub 
about the roots of a language. His place is in the 
kitchen of the Muses, among the pots and pans. 
How dare he show himself in the dramng-room? 
How dare he — 

Drake. Mv dear brother bard, don't be so fierce, 
so bitter. 

Pin. I can't help it; I am annoyed and vexed, 
when I think how much of my time has been thrown 
away on this infernal old gerund-grinder. Confound 
him ; can one never sit and listen to the sweet hymn 
of the lark, chanting on the summit of Parnassus, 
without being continually interrupted by the braying 
of such donkeys as this, at the base of it ? But 
let's change the subject for something more agree- 
able. "We may expect you of course, at the Festi- 
val? 

Drake. What festival, my friend ? 

Pin. Why. is it possible you have not received 
your invitation ? As Chairman of the Committee 



I 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 71 

of Arrangements. I put your name down myself, 
among the very first. 

Drake. This is the first I have heard of it. But 
what is it all about ? 

Pin. Here's the Programme ; read for yourself. 

Drake, (reads.) 

STAR AMARANTH. 

TWENTY-NINTH HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY OF HOMEB. 

Order of Exercises. 

Invocation to the Throne of Grace, by Fenelon. 

Grand Hymn and Chorus. Music by Beethoven. 
Opening Address, by Cervantes. 

Birthday Ode, vrords by Pindar, Music by Mozart. 
Coronation-speech to the Poet, by Shakspeare. 



THE BABD S REPLY. 




Grand Coronation Hymn, written and 




composed by 


Orpheus. 


Oration, by 


Cicero. 


Poem, by 


Tasso. 


Grand Hymn and Chorus, words and 




music, by 


Milton. 


Closing Prayer, by 


Channinf'. 



Benediction, by Sanchoniatho. 

A rich treat, certainly, and well worthy of the 



72 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

great occasion. But when and where is this grand 
celebration to come off? 

Pin. You would have found it duly set forth in 
your invitation. To-morrow, at high noon, in the 
Palace of the Villa Clarissima,of our honored friend, 
Lorenzo tbe Magnificent, the warm patron and ori- 
ginator of the entertainment. 

Drake. How fortunate that I met you. I wouldn't 
have missed it for worlds. What a pity, though, 
that our excellent host here, can't go with us. 

Pin. It is, indeed ; my dear old friend, however, 
must see at a glance, the utter impossibility of the 
thing. If he could only manage to be handsomely 
dead and buried in the interim, it would delight me 
to send him a ticket. 

W. the Elder. No, I thank you ; I am very 
grateful for the compliment, but I am quite content- 
ed to remain where I am, yet a while. Low as you 
may consider my tastes, 1 assure you, I am in no 
hurry for celestial novelties. Your nectar and am- 
brosia are, no doubt, very pretty preparations, not 
to speak of the seductive programme just read by 
brother Drake. Meanwhile, earthly mutton and 
Madeira for my money, and such singing as Sontag 
and Badiali can give me. 

Pin. Far be it from us, my dear friend, to speak 
slightingly, either of earthly dinners or earthly 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 73 

music ; especially after your hearty hospitality. But 
I must away, to meet the Committee ; don't fail us, 
my dear Drake. 

Drake. Not I ; meanwhile I must be ofif to Sun- 
nyside, to see my revered friend Irving. So, good 
by, old host. 

W. the Elder. Bye bye. {Exeunt.) 



74 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



DIOGENES.— RABELAIS. 

W. the JElder. I am indeed most happy to find 
my humble roof honored by the presence of two such 
notabilities. Down, Judy, down. You inhospitable 
little huSsy, down, I say. 

Diogenes. Oh ! never mind, never mind, my old 
cock. Let the young thing exercise her lungs, if its 
any comfort to her. Besides, I'm used to this sort 
of reception. This ugly mug and pretty wardrobe 
of mine, have occasioned a good deal of canine music 
in their day. 

Rah. Saving your reverence, I should think so. 

Diog, And, yet the slut might have shown some 
little discrimination. Had I been an academician 
now, I could have forgiven the insult. But to snarl 
at a cynic, one of the family : fie, Judy, fie ! 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 75 

W. the Elder. Well, gentlemen, you must excuse 
her. Ordinarily, I assure you, she is as well-bred, 
nay, fascinating a little terrier as ever jingled a bell ; 
but the poor thing has been suifering a good deal 
from dyspepsia of late. That, and the fatigues of 
last evening — — 

Rab. Fatigues ? 

W. the Rider. Yes. fatigues. You must know 
. that she enacted the arduous part of Juliet, last 
night, at the Astor Place Theatre, to her Italian 
friend Cupid's Romeo ; and, what with the excite- 
ment of the performance itself, and the unreasonable 
quantity and size of the bouquets that were discharged 
at her, at the close, she is really quite an invalid 
this morning. But, that she is positively underlined ' 
for to-morrow night, as Mrs. Haller, (not^to speak 
of her having to preside at a Sluts' Rights Meeting, 
this evening.) I should insist upon a week's rustica- 
tion for the restoration of her n«rvous system. But, 
gentlemen, pray come to anchor. Diogenes, allow 
me to take your cloak and stick. 

Diog. My good friend, I do not wish to be un- 
reasonable ; but when I tell you, that the cloak in 
question constitutes, and has for many centuries, 
constituted my entire wardrobe, you will perceive at 
once, the embarrassing nature of your request. 

W. the Elder. I really ask pardon. I was aware 



76 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

that yon were not gi*eatly addicted to under-linen, 
while in the flesh, hut 

Rah. {aside to W.) No. nor since. You'll find 
him the same unsavory, pungent, profane old crab 
of a fellow as ever. 

Diog-. What libels is that flippant Frenchman 
whispering about me ? He may have the advan- 
tage in costume, but I should be very sorry to change 
morals with him, for all his snow-white ruff and 
flowered slippers, there. The old beast, there's more 
downright filth in one of his vile pages, than in all 
the writings of us Greeks put together. 
W. the Elder. Gentlemen, gentlemen. 

Rah. Oh ! let him rail away. The truth is, entre 
nous, that his tub was sold out recentlv, under fore- 
closure, and he hasn't orot over it vet. "What was 
the amount of the mortgage, old Soapsuds ? 

Diog. You be hanged ! You know that what you 
say is an infamous slander. 

Rah. "Why, brother Swift told me so but yester- 
day. 

Diog. Precious authority, truly ! Isn't he for- 
ever hatching and circulating just such fibs ; going 
about, poisoning the universe with his vile and veno- 
mous falsehoods ? You know I have never lost sight 
of that tub from the beginning. "Where it goes, I 
go. To be surC; I had to leave it this morning, to 



sPiRirrAL TisrroES- 7Y 

be new-bottomed ; the thirteenth hundredth. I be- 
lieve, since I first bought it of Parmenus. 

W. the Elder. Parmenus 1 I don't know him. 

Diog-. I should think not. my eccentric old friend. 
That's the name of the Athenian cooper, who made 
the article. A good fellow he was. too. I can see 
him at his work now. as if it were but yesterday. 
He was one of three brothers : Parmenus. Epe- 
netus, Epicurus : of the ward Theseus, and tribe 
Jonesis ; all famous musicians in their day. and as 
merry fellows as ever beat time with their knuckles, 
in all Attica. But I forget. How can this interest 
you, or Monsieur Broadgrin. there ? 

TF. the Elder. Oh ! I beg your pardon. I know 
a score of old fellows in town, who would ^ive a hun- 
dred pounds to-day, for a bit of classical information, 
not half so authentic, or a tenth part so valuable. 
Come, do tell us all about it. What were the dimen- 
sions, and prime cost of the tub in question ? Was 
it positively put down and taxed, as real property, 
by the Athenian assessors, or was the mortgage just 
alluded to by our frog-eating brother here, a personal 
one ? Did you ever take boarders in it ? How 
often did you ask the old f^lks to supper ? How 
much of a Home-Circle would it hold ] Were you 
allowed to take it to church or the theatre with you ? 
llow far did it modifv vour other habits ? "What had 



78 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

the washerwoman of the neighborhood, and the small 
boys to say about it? At what hour did you gene- 
rally turn in, I should say, under ? Did you always 
keep open house, or did you have your reception 
day ? Is it true, that the brick-bats used to fly- 
pretty freely round it, when you took your quadren- 
nial roll in it, to see the Olympic games ? Come, 
do favor us with the statistics. 

Diog. Why, you inquisitive old Yankee ! I shall 
begin to think you are a greater quiz than Rabelais 
himself. Cerberus confound me, what a twinge was 
there ! 

W. the Elder. Why, what's the matter ? What 
are you hopping about so for ? 

Diog. All your fault, all your fixult. 

W. the Elder. My fault ? What do you mean ? 
Explain yourself. 

Diog. You must know then, that when your in- 
fernal lio:htnin<>; invitation first thrilled throusth me, 
I happened to be operating on my ghostly corns, 
with my ghostly jack-knife. 

W. the Elder. Where, where, where ? 

Diog. Don't be so outrageously impatient. I was 
just going to add, while seated on the shed of an an- 
cient pig-pen, in the star Metuchen of Constellation 
Bootes. So powerful and sudden was the shock. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 79 

that I gave myself a frightful gash on the great toe 
sinister. Hinc illce lacrymcB. 

W. the Elder. 1 am really very sorry for this. 
But there's a magnificent chiropodist right across 
the street. He sent me his card this very morning. 
Here it is — Hampden Sydney Smith, Bunnion Ex- 
terminator. Do let me send for him instanter. 

Diog. No, no, no. I feel better again, already. 
W. the Elder. But do tell me, Diogenes, why 
didn't you bring your family mansion along with 
you ? You are my guest, you know, on this occa- 
sion. 

Diog. Why, didn't you, my venerable legal friend, 
send a legible address with your invitation ? As it 
was, I had to bundle out at the Cosmopolitan. 

W. the Elder. Ah ! you're putting up at the 
Metropolitan, then? 

Diog. Cosmopolitan, I said ; corner of 4th avenue 
and 187th street. 

W. the Elder. 1 know no such establishment. 

Diog. Well, that's not so strange, for the land- 
lord, (a very pleasant, ruddy faced Hibernian gen- 
tleman,) told me that he had only been open three 
days. A week ago, said he, my hotel was a second- 
class passenger-car on the New Haven Railroad; 
having been severely battered in one of the regular 



80 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

hebdomadal collisions, viih which the directors re- 
gale the public, I bought it of the Company at a low 
figure, laid out a little fortune in the way of repairs 
and decorations, and here we are, only waiting for 
the next World's Fair, to have an overflow. 

W. the Elder. And how do you like your accom- 
modations ? 

Diog-. Superb, superb. ]N"othing could have ac- 
corded better with my ideal. To be sure, a dainty 
fellow, like Plato, might have been annoyed at find- 
ing a score of pigs in the reception room ; or a Lu- 
cullus, have experienced some little uneasiness of 
stomach, at seeing so many old quids lying about on 
the breakfast table ; but the arrangements suited 
me to a charm. I do not know when 1 have slept 
more sweetly,, or have had more seraphic dreams, 
than I did last night ; which I mainly attribute to 
having had one of the aforesaid pigs for a pillow. 
That, and the pleasure of the company of a regiment 
of rats, or so 

W. the Elder. Say no more, old fellow, and for 
heaven's sake, stay where you are. After such a 
glowing account, I will not so insult you, as to offer 
you clean sheets and a decent meal, under my own 
roof. 

Rah. {aside.) Hang his contemptible affectation ! 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 81 

The old wretch is actually more vain of his rags and 
filth, than any peacock ever was of his plumes. 

Dios^. "What is Mounseer mutterino; there'? 

W. the Elder. Oh! nothing, nothing. Of course 
you have had but little time as yet to look round, 
Diogenes ? 

Diog. I have made but two calls, so far. • 

W. the Elder. Where may they have been? 

Diog. The first on General Scott, to congratulate 
him on his election. 

W. the Elder. Why, confound your impertinence ! 
What, go out of your way, the very first thing, to 
insult an illustrious patriot in his downfall ? I am 
ashamed of you. 

Diog. I beg your pardon. I acted in good faith. 
It was my scamp of a landlord, that misled me. 
Didn't he tell me this very morning, that the Gene- 
ral had carried every State in the Union, except 
twenty- seven, and that he only wanted three or four 
millions of illegal votes from the old country, to have 
secured them also ? Didn't he add, too, that it was 
my duty as an illustrious stranger, to call upon the 
old hero, as he was passing through the city, and 
present my felicitations ? 

W. the Elder. Well, and how did the General 
receive you 7 

Diog. Most unmistakably. 



82 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. But how, how 7 

Diog. Xot a word did he utter, but straightway 
proceeded to shy a three-legged stool, at this philo- 
sophical nob of mine ; luckily dodging it, I made a 
hasty retreat, and then went down to see my name- 
sake of the Lantern. 

W. the Elder. "What, my young friend and bub- 
ble-piercer, Diogenes, jr. ? You found him well, I 
trust. 

Diog. Oh ! yes, full of fun and full of work, be- 
sides. He tells me he is doing famously, and is 
rapidly becoming a mundane celebrity of the first 
water. I told him to go ahead ; that he had a great 
harvest before him ; that the world was never wick- 
eder or sillier than now ; that a single turn in Broad- 
way, had sufficed to convince me that there was a 
frightful aggregation of follies, vanities and vices, in 
this great metropolis ; that I had seen far more of 
mere skin-deep splendor and effervescent tumult in 
it, than of solid grandeur or dignified employment ; 
that, for all their airs, and saucy bragging style, the 
people I met, were a terribly mean looking-set, both 
in face and figure, compared with my Athenian con- 
temporaries, and so on. I was proceeding with my 
suggestions, when he cut the colloquy short, by pro- 
posing that we should talk the matter over, at din- 
ner to-morrow, at Win — Win — 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 83 

W. the Elder. Windust's, you mean, I suppose 1 

Diog. Yes. that's the name. What sort of a 
place is it ? 

W. the Elder. Oh ! a capital place, and the land- 
lord a regular trump. It is the great rendezvous of 
the legal and dramatic wits of the town : the Wills' 
Coffee-house of Grotham. You musn't fail to meet 
him there. Tell him, if you think of it, that he has 
my best wishes, and, that I believe, he can do infi- 
nitely more good, by cutting up the vices and cor- 
ruptions of the day, with that spirited pen and pen- 
cil of his, than all our Solons put together, with their 
unwise attempts to cut them down. 

Diog. I shall deliver your message. But what 
makes old Foie-gras so silent? He has hardly put 
in his spiritual oar to-day. 

W. the Elder. Why, Rabelais, what are you 
about, sitting there as mute as a mummy ? Ilou, 
too, the famous chatter-box and mirth-maker of old ; 
what is the matter ? 

Rah. I certainly am not in my usual spirits. 

W. the Elder. Can you account for it 1 Perhaps, 
the furnace heat is 

Rah. Oh ! no, no. The fact is, I fluttered a little 
too long over my nectar, last night ; and, it is bare- 
ly possible, that in the excitement of conversation, I 
neglected diluting it properly with ether. 



84 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Ah ! you are as naughty a ghost 
as ever, I see. But come now, tell the meeting your 
experience. Where do you hail from ? What have 
you been about recently ? 

Rab. Well, I've been on the planet for the last 
six months ; on a tour of observation and amuse- 
ment. 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! What do you consider 
your head-quarters ? Where shall I send my card? 

Rab. I am putting up with my friend Louis Na- 
poleon, at the Tuileries. 

W. the Elder. You find yourself comfortable 
there, no doubt. 

Rab. Oh ! yes, I have a delightful little suite of 
chambers, overlooking the garden. We have had 
some fine fun too, I tell you, almost every evening ; 
saying our good things, and tossing off our cham- 
pagne, to the memory of the defunct Republic. 
Louis killed it off very prettily and quietly, didn't 
he ? French Liberty ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Talley- 
rand by the way, was with us one night, and he 
made some pretty rich disclosures, I tell you. 

W. the Elder. Ah ! do tell us all about it. 

Rab. You'll see it all in black and white, before 
a great while. His twenty years' veto on his exe- 
cutors will be up soon ; and then, hey my boys, for 
breakers ! 



SPIEITUAL VISITORS. 85 

W. the Elder. But when does the coronation 
come off ? 

Rab. In a very few days. 

W. the Elder. It will be a superb affair, I dare say. 

Rab. A brilliant show, of course. We Franks 
understand spectacle ; not so grand or imposing, 
though, probably, as the one I saw in London, re- 
cently. 

W. the Elder. What, the Duke's funeral? 

Rab. The same. 

W. the Elder. Why, what business had you, a 
Gallic ghost at an English funeral, and above all, at 
that of your great enemy ? 

Rab. Well, I was never much troubled with na- 
tional prejudices, and was a good deal of a cosmopo- 
litan, you may remember, before leaving the flesh. 
But, be that as it may, I envy not that ghost or 
mortal, who can refuse his plaudits or his homage, 
to such a head and heart as were that day, with 
princely pomp, consigned to earth. 

Diog. Bravo, old fellow. I like you for that speech. 
I too, crab and cur, that I am called, may I perish 
if ever I refuse to take off my spiritual hat to quali- 
ties such as his. 

W. the Elder. Why this is really pleasant, gen- 
tlemen, to hear two such shrewd and biting critics 
as you, speak thus cordially and enthusiastically, 



86 SPIRITUAL VISITOES. 

about the great Englishman. I wish, though, friend 
Rabelais, you could have witnessed the Webster ob- 
sequies. 

Rah. I did. 

W. the Elder. What, at Marshfield ? 

Rah. Even so. 

Diog. You behaved yourself there, I hope. 

Rah. Better than you would have done, old sour- 
krout. Ah ! my friend, that was indeed a sight to 
be remembered ; far, far different from the elaborate 
pomp of the English pageant, but, to my mind, far 
more touching and beautiful, nay, sublime in its 
simplicity ; far more in keeping with the grandeur 
of the character, and genius of him, whom they thus 
honored. I shall never forget the scene ; the noble 
appearance of the body as it lay upon the lawn, un- 
der those pleasant poplars ; the regal brow, the se- 
rene express! :»n, the appropriate costume ; the scat- 
tered groups of friends, and neighbors, and servants ; 
the long, orderly procession of mourners from all 
parts, almost, of the land ; the simple rites, the 
trembling voice of the old priest, the pleasant, wea- 
ther-stained faces of the old farmers who bore him 
to the tomb ; the feeling of true grief and affection- 
ate veneration, written upon all countenances ; the 
leaves falling around us, the o'ercast sky, the plain- 
tive music of the sea ; all, all combined to form a 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 87 

most impressive and memorable spectacle. I have 
not been so moved for ages. The idea that any in- 
decent jest or look, could have escaped me on such 
an occasion ! No, no. 

W, the Elder. Why, Rabelais, I had no idea you 
had so much pathos and poetry in your composition. 

Rab. I suppose not. That's the way we wags 
have always been misrepresented. We are thought 
a very flinty-hearted set of fellows. How absurd ! 
As if fun and grief were not first cousins ! As if 
tears and smiles were not eternally chasing each 
other round the earth ! As if this, or any other 
world, were worth breathing in, where there was 
not a bountiful supply pf both ! 

W. the Elder. Why, you are growing warm. 
But to change the subject ; how long is it since you 
were in Paris before 1 

Rah. I don't remember precisely ; some two or 
three centuries. 

W. the Elder. You saw strikinor chancres ? 

Rah. Yes ; more especially in the paving and 
lighting departments. I found also a great many 
new and capital dishes on the carte ; not to speak 
of the agreeable novelty of coffee, and the fascina- 
tions of the ballet. The Burgundy and claret like- 
wise, that my little friend Nap. punishes so freely, 



88 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

are much choicer articles than those I used to put 
under mj earthly jacket. 

Diog. But in morals, education, preparation for 
the arduous duties of Republicans — 

Rah. {ichistles a Polka.) 

W. the Elder. By the way, Kabelais, did you 
really make that rascally dying speech, generally 
attributed to you ? 

Rab. What, drop the curtain, the farce is over 7 
Alas ! I did, and I remember it to my sorrow. Do 
you know ? But I forget ; these are themes we 
spirits are forbidden to jest upon. But I must go. 
I have got a little commission to execute for a friend, 
down at the Astor. 

Diog. Take me with you. 

Rah. No, by St. Denis ; not unless you will con- 
descend to shirt and shave, and get under a very 
diflferent head-piece from that fright yonder. 

Diog. How can you be so unreasonable ? Dio- 
genes in a clean shirt, and without his beard? I 
should be the most unhappy ghost afloat. 

Rah. Well, then, come along as you are. 

W. the Elder. Recollect, spirits. I dine at four 
precisely. I shan't wait for you a moment. 

Rab. We shall return in good season. 

W. the Elder. By the way, Diogenes, while I 
think of it, let me ask you one question. There's 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 89 

nothing like information from head-quarters, you 
know {produces a coin). Is that a genuine article ? 
' Diog. [examines it.^ I should say so. It looks 
genuine, and seems to ring pretty clear. 

W. the Elder. You are -willing to certify, are 
you, that it is a veritable drachma of the time of 
Themistocles ? 

Diog. lam. 

W. the Elder. I am glad to hear you say so. The 
individual who sold it to me, gave me a paper with 
it, wherein it is stated that this identical drachma, 
was part of the change for a mina received by that 
very patriot himself from an Athenian omnibus dri- 
ver. 

Diog. I have no doubt of it. Any other inqui- 
ries ? 

W. the Elder. Nothing else, thank you. 

Ghosts. Good morning. 

W. the Elder. Take care of yourselves. [Exeunt.^ 



90 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



ARTSTIDES.— JAY. 

W, the Elder. My clear Aristides, this prompt 
and courteous acceptance of my invitation, is indeed 
most gratifying. Allow me to make you acquainted 
with my venerated countryman, John Jay. 

Arts. Ah, I am charmed to see him. His name 
and fame have been long familiar to me. I wonder 
we have never met before. 

Jay. It is strange, considering the liberties we 
ghosts are allowed now-a-days. How different from 
the old regime ! Then, we never used to think of 
showing ourselves till long after sun-down, you 
know ; never got an invitation from any quarter, or 
a very cordial welcome, when we did venture to 
make a call. Now, we knock around, in broad day- 
light, in the most free and friendly style, and with- 
out the sliiihtest re^jard to the unities. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 91 

Aj'is. Even so. This is the era of innovations of 
all sorts, all over the universe. None of the old- 
fashioned doctrines, either in manners or in morals, 
in science or in art, seem to be listened to any long- 
er. I am sorry to see it. The unities, indeed ! 
Why, Judge, the idea of presenting a play to an 
Athenian audience, in my day, ■v\^herein there "was 
the slightest violation of any one of them, would 
not have been tolerated for a moment. Such a per- 
formance would have been hissed at once from the 
stage, with indignation. You see how it is now; 
and, indeed, ever since that popular transgressor of 
all laws, Shakspeare, has come into being. Con- 
found the fellow, he flirts with all the nine Muses at 
once ; is eternally laughing out of one eye, and cry- 
ing out of the other ; and yet, somehow or other, the 
dog is so fascinating, so grand, so irresistible, that 
criticism is completely disarmed, nay, swallow-ed up 
in admiration. Sophocles himself, by the way, made 
the same remark to me, but an evening or two ago, 
in an adjoining luminary, while we were listening to 
that delicious play — The Merchant of Venice. 

Jay. Why, Aristides, you talk like a regular old 
theatre-goer. And are all you Greeks such enthu- 
siastic Shakspearians ? 

Aris. Indeed we are. And is there any ghost, 
anywhere, of the slightest pretensions to culture, 



y 



92 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

who is not acquainted ^yith him, is not an eager 
student, alike of his terrestrial and celestial produc- 
tions? Is there a single theatre in any star in 
heaven, the manager of ^Yhich would not be perfectly 
crazy to bring out his last play ? 

W. the Elder, Ah, what is it ? What does he 
call it? 

Arts. I don't know, indeed. I was merely speak- 
ing, my friend, at a venture ; taking it for granted 
that he has got something magnificent ready for us. 
It is some time, now, since his Napoleon was pro- 
duced. 

W. the Elder. What, has he written a play on 
that theme ? 

Aris. Yes, truly, a most sublime tragedy. Many 
critics consider it, especially the last act, his master- 
work. It certainly is in his happiest vein. I remem- 
ber nothing in Othello or Lear, more affecting than ' 
the dying speech of the imperial exile. Eut my 
friend, the Judge, here, may not be such a votary 
of the drama, as we Athenians are, and always have 
been. So, let's change the subject. Do tell us, : 
Judge, where have you been keeping yourself all 
this time ? IIow is it that two such kindred spirits, 
and lovers of justice as ourselves, have not been 
brought together long ago ? 

Jo.?/. As I said before, I don't understand it. To 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 93 

be sure, I've been a good deal of a recluse of late ; 
locked in my chambers, up to my very eyes in books 
and papers. Indeed, the whole bench have been 
sadly bothered and overworked, for some time past. 
Aris. What subjects have you been particularly 
investigating ? 

Jai/. Well, a great variety. The main items of 
annoyance, however, have grown out of certain new- 
fangled opinions, and absurd attempts at legislation, 
in our planet, on the subject of Female Ghosts' 
Rights. 

W. the Elder. Ah, there's been a good deal of 
stir on that topic, in these regions, of late. 
Jai/. Indeed ! There's certainly been a great 
[ deal of nonsense talked about it in Jupiter. Why, 
> do you know, Aristides, they have actually been try- 
ing, not merely to bribe, but to overawe us Judges 
into finding authorities in the books, recognizing the 
\ competence of married ghostesses to enter into all 
: sorts of contracts, as unreservedly as their hus- 
^bands. One vixen actually had the impudence, the 
I other day, to try to recover damages on a time- 
' transaction in a notorious fancy-stock ; and when 
we most promptly and properly turned her out of 
court, her counsel, with audacity unparalleled, called 
me, the Chief Justice, in open court, a miserable old 
f^gy- ^^ course, 1 committed him instanter. 



D4 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Aris. The impertinent whelp ! Why, these are 
new doctrines. 

Ja?/. But, my friend, we mean to be firm. We 
shall not yield an inch to any such insolence or ab- 
surdity. The law is as clear as it is sound, on this 
subject ; and we intend to expound and apply it, 
like honest ghosts. Yes, the good old-fashioned 
doctrine of the common law, founded on good sense] 
and experience, and the best instincts of the heart. | 
And we mean to do all we can, as spiritual citizens, 
to prevent the passage of any such unreasonable! 
laws as have been suggested. I think and talk, 
now, on this point, precisely as I did in the flesh. 
Legislation for women, forsooth ! As if the law of 
love were not the great law under which they ought : 
alike to govern and be governed ! A pure, loving, 
gentle, patient woman, be she mother, wife, or daugh- 
ter, why, what does she want at the hands of thej 
lawgiver? Is she not already enthroned, by virtue 
of those very attributes, in our hearts ? The idea, 
too, of turning one's wife into a mere partner inH 
trade, or an independent property-holder, and of in- 
vading the sacred circle of home with the associa- 
tions and the bye-laws that belong to banks and 
counting houses ! I have no patience with such' 
doctrines. I have moreover noticed, my friend, 
throughout this whole movement, that the true spir- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 95 

its, the model wives and mothers, that we all swear 
by, have not expressed the slightest sympathy with 
it ; and I believe it can pretty much all be traced to 
a certain clique of shrill-voiced, turbulent, spectral 
blue-stockings ; creatures, alas, from whom no planet 
or system is free. But you must forgive my warmth, 
Aristides. Am I, or am I not right on this matter? 
Aris. Certainly, certainly you are. At the same 
time. Judge, I must confess, as an honest ghost, that 
the "^'omen of Athens hardly had justice done them, 
in my day. I think they were unreasonably exclu- 
ded from many appropriate employments and amuse- 
ments, and that our Athenian society suffered ac- 
cordingly. I think there would have been less tur- 
bulence and misrule, far more refinement, and cer- 
tainly far more benevolent enterprises of all sorts, 
if they had had more of a voice in our social ar- 
rangements. 

Jay. I've no doubt of it, my friend, nor do I wish 

! to be unreasonable on the subject. I am no ultraist. 

! Aris. We all know that. Judge ; your reputation 
for calm wisdom, and moral courage, is pretty well 

, established throughout the universe. 

I W, the Elder. From what you said just now. 

, Aristides, I infer that you had no Bloomers in 
Athens. 

Aris. Bloomers— ^Bloomers ? T havo not the 



9G SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

satisfaction of comprehending you. "What sort of 
articles may they be 7 

W. the Elder. Females, who go about tasting the 
air in trowsers, and under broad brims ; and who oc- 
casionally mount a stray ash-barrel or tree-stump, 
to enlighten the passers-by, on social and philo- 
sophical topics. 

Aris. Minerva be thanked, we knew no such crea- 
tures. And yet. on reflection, I can recall one or 
two such she-peripatetics ; one. more particularly ; 
a most clever woman, too, in her line ; a capital chi- 
ropodist : in fact, the only bona fide corn-eradicator 
that I ever knew ; all the rest have been sheer pre- 
tenders. But not satisfied with her laurels in this de- 
partment, she set up for a metaphysician and cos- 
mogonist. and would go about, every now and then, 
delivering a street lecture, such as you speak of. 
Poor thing, they had to lock her up at last. 

TV. the Elder. May it please your Honor — 

Jay. Well, what is it, my eccentric friend ? 

W. the Elder. Pshaw ! What an old fool I am, 
to be sure ! I ask ten thousand pardons ; but I 
really thought for a moment (so strong was the illu- 
sion), that you were actually in the flesh again, and 
presiding over the Supreme Court of the United 
States. Ahj would it were so, indeed ! We should 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 97 

all feel safer, and the country would be m a mucli 
more comfortable condition. 

Jay. Don't talk so. From all I hear, I should 
say you had a capital bench of Judges. If the 
country is always as well served in that Depart- 
ment, there will be no ground for grumbling or anx- 
iety. 

W. the Elder. Well. I dare say it is so ; but I 
was about, under the influence of said delusion, to 
ask your Honors opinion as to the constitutionality 
of the Fugitive Slave Law, passed a year or two 
since. But of course you have not heard of it. 

Jay, Haven't I ? Didn't I hear all about it, 
lately, from Henry Clay ? 

W. the Elder, [gives three cheers.) 

Ari$. Whv, what is the matter with the mortal? 

Jay. [aside to Aristides.) We must humor the 
old gentleman. He is, evidently, a very flighty, 
fanciful sort of genius. 

JV. the Elder. You jniist forgive me, gentlemen ; 
but such is my enthusiastic admiration of the patriot 
of whom the Judge spoke, that I have uniformly 
made it a rule, as well since as before his departure 
from earth, to pay the usual honors, whenever and 
wherever I hear his name mentioned ; the sanctu- 
ary, of course, always excepted. But as to the law 



98 SPIRITUAL VISITOKS. 

in question ; you think it constitutional, do you, 
Judo;e ? 

Jay. Well, so far as I could gather from Mr. 
Clay's statements and explanations, I should con- 
sider it not merely constitutional, but essential, nay, 
obligatory upon the nation. 

W. the Elder. Ah, how gratified I am at such 
an endorsement of my own humble opinions. There 
are those about us who sing a very different tune ; 
who speak of the law in the most discourteous, disre- 
spectful manner ; nay, who do not scruple to say 
that they would glory in disobeying it. 

Jay. So I was told. I am very sorry to hear it. 
What, glory in disobeying a law passed expressly to 
give effect to a solemn clause of the Constitution ; 
passed after a most thorough investigation and 
searching debate, and duly promulgated to the na- 
tion as the will of the people ? How do such doc- 
trines strike you, Aristides ? 

Aris. Sheer heresy and treason, according to my 
old Athenian notions. Why, where would it land 
us ? Was there ever a law passed, so wise or good, 
but what it trod on somebody's toes, interfered with 
the whims of some enthusiast, or thwarted the plans 
of some self-seeker? Such a doctrine, of course, 
turns all government into a farce. 



.SPIRITUAL VISITORS. ' 99 

W. the Elder. And yet it is broached very freely 
and frequently, all around us. 

Jay. And I say again, I am sorry to hear it. T 
regret, too, to hear that there is so much ultraism 
and ill-feeling, in the country, on this slavery ques- 
tion ; such an aggressive, Pharisaical spirit, in the 
North — such an unreasonable, vindictive temper in 
the South. It ought not to be, and, thank Heaven, 
it was not so in my day. What would have become 
of us, indeed, had we given way thus to our passions ? 
We all felt and talked alike, on the subject, then ; 
all admitted the evil of the institution ; at the same 
time, we saw the necessity of acting like true bro- 
thers, gentlemen, and Christians, in the matter ; 
saw that a spirit of conciliation and forbearance was 
the indispensable preliminary to any hopeful attempt 
at mitio[-atinor or removino; the mischief. Would that 
the same calm counsels could prevail now ! Do, my 
dear host, for the few short years that remain to you 
as a mortal, do exert all your influence towards 
bringing about a spirit of brotherly love, upon this 
and ail great national questions. It makes me 
shudder to see my country, already so great and 
glorious — that has already a thousand-fold rewarded 
all our toils and sufferings — (I would speak modest- 
ly of my own humble part in them) — thus becoming 
an arena for angry controversy ; to see her thus 



100 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



trifling ^vitli her destinies, thus inviting the sneers 
and assaults of foreign despots. But, Aristides, this 
subject does not specially interest you. 

Aris. I beg your pardon. It c?oe5 interest me. I 
was a slave-holder myself, you know, on earth, 
though not to any great extent. I agree with you, 
Judge, entirely, in this matter. I am not, and never 
was, an apologist for slavery. No statute, human 
or spiritual, can justify it, or convert it into a 
blessing. At the same time, the evils of the system, 
as we know it in Athens, have been abominably ex- 
aggerated by mendacious historians. 

Jai/. No doubt of it. An honest, even-tempered, 
self forgetting historian, is a very scarce article. 

Aris. Besides, Judge, I am not so badly posted 
up in American affairs, as you suppose. I have met 
a good many ghosts from your land, in the course 
of my travels, and have invariably found them plea- 
sant and intelligent spirits ; though never, till to- 
day, one so illustrious as yourself 

Jai/. If it was not Aristides who said this, I should 
accuse him of flattery. 

Aris. You know me too well for that. But go 
on ; I like to hear you talk. Tell us all about these 
glorious contemporaries of yours. 

Jai/. Ah, I'm no talker. Could you have heard 
my beloved friend, Hamilton, on these themes, that 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 101 

would have been a treat ! A glorious fellow Aris- 
tides ; second only to Washington. 

Aris. He presided over your famous Convention, 
did he not ? 

Joy. No, but he was the leading spirit in it ; the 
master intellect in that assembly of mighty minds ; 
the main artificer of our blessed Constitution. 

Aris. I have heard a good deal about your Con- 
stitution. I confess I should like to be more familiar 
with its contents. 

W. the Elder, [goes to the Library^ takes down 
a copy of the Federalist^ and presents it to Aris- 
tides.) There, my friend, you'll find the dear in- 
strument itself, with all the explanations and argu- 
ments of the Judge here, and his illustrious brother 
commentators. 

Aris. Thank you — thank you, most heartily. I 
consider a present like this worth circumnavigating 
a system for. But, my old friend, I confess I am 
surprised at not seeing a handsomer edition of this 
work. Hallowell — Hallowell ; pray, is that the 
name of your seat of government ? 

TF. the Elder. No, but of a smart town in Maine. 

Jay. Do you mean to say, then, that there is no 
Boston, or New York, or Philadelphia edition extant 
of the work ? 

W. the Elder. 1 never heard of any. 



102 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Jay. lou surprise me. It don't look right, my 
old host. 

TF. the Elder. Indeed it does not. I am utterly 
ashamed of myself and the country, when I think 
how little the work is called for. 

Jay. It certainly don't look right. Don't misun- 
derstand me, Aristides. I speak not from any 
w^ounded vanity of authorship ; for you will perceive 
that my share in the Avork is very trifling ; but then, 
such an evidence of apathy, on the part of the peo- 
ple — such a culpable indifference to the memory of 
the Patres Conscripti of the Republic — I confess I 
am mortified and grieved at it. 

TF. the Elder. I regret to add, Judge, that your 
own Life and Writings are anything but profitable 
to the publishers. 

Jay. Well, after what I've just heard, I am not 
at all surprised at it. 

W. the Elder. 'Twas but a day or two ago, that 
a leading Broadway bookseller told me he would 
rather take 10,000 copies of Uncle Tom's Cabin, on 
a venture, than ten copies of the other. 

Jay. I dare say — I dare say. 

Aris. Why, this is positively more shabby and 
ungrateful than our own ostracism. But never 
mind. Judge, never mind : the truth is, the present 
generation of Americans is too near, to have a fair 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 103 

view of your dimensions, and those of your glorious 
compeers. Posterity will do you all justice, and will 
be proud and glad to drink in wisdom from your 
writings. Ah, dear, I wish I had been a member of 
that same illustrious convention of yours. 1 would 
willingly exchange all my Grecian laurels for an 
honor like that. 

Jay. You would have made an invaluable member, 
no doubt ; and j^et, you ought to be satisfied, Aris- 
tides. You did a world of good, in your day. You 
played your part right handsomely, and will be re- 
membered through all time, as the true patriot, the 
upright Judge. Indeed, I hardly know a pedestal 
in Fame's temple that I would rather stand on than 
yours. 

W. the Elder. Judge Jay— « 

Jay. Well, my friend, what is it ? 

W. the Elder. Do you happen to have heard any- 
thing, from recently arrived ghosts, touching the 
Maine Liquor Law ? If so, I should be glad to 
hear your views as to the propriety and policy of 
that statute. 

Jay. Only in the most casual way. 

W. the Elder. Here it is. Suppose you just run 
your ghostly eye over its provisions. 

Jay. I have not time now, but, with your leave, I 



104 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

will take it and examine it, at my leisure. So give 
me your address, and I'll telegraph you on the sub- 
ject. 

W. the Elder. Certainly — certainly ; or, suppose 
you drop me a line through the Shekineh. 

Jaij. As you -will ; the cause is indeed a noble 
one, my friend, and has all my sympathies. At the 
same time, I have my misgivings as to the expe- 
diency of legislating on such subjects. What 
say you, brother magistrate ? Ought we not rather 
to leave these matters to the Divine Lawgiver, and 
to the Court of Conscience 1 

Aris. I am certainly inclined to that opinion. 
However, I have little knowledge on the subject, 
having been a cold water character from the start. 
We Greeks, you know, were never much given to 
bibbing. Will you believe it, Judge, I have never 
tasted a drop of ardent spirits in the whole course 
of my spiritual career ? 

W. the Elder. Well, then, just for the novelty of 
the thing, Aristides, do me the favor to try a little 
rum that I've got here, that I know has been in bot- 
tle for more than two centuries. It will do you 
good, I'm sure. 

Aris. No, no, my old friend, I am much obliged 
to you ; but its merits would be completely thrown 
away upon mo. Besides, I do not care to form any 
such habit at this stage of my pilgrimage. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 105 

W. the Elder. Perhaps his Honor would — 

Jai/. JSTo. not for me. I do 7?ii/ work on water. 
It's bad enough for the lawyers to knock their 
glasses together, as they do. continually ; but a 
groggery Bench is, of all things, my horror. Well, 
friends, I'm afraid I shall have to move an adjourn- 
ment of this meeting. I must be back to my books. 

W. the Elder. Oh, Judge, don't leave us so ab- 
ruptly. Do stop to dinner, at least. 

Jay. I would, with pleasure, my dear host, but the 
thing is quite out of the question to-day. 

W. the Elder. Well, Aris tides, you will, I'm 
sure. 

Aris. Y/ith great pleasure. In fact, I came with 
the expectation of spending both day and evening 
with you. Pray, what are the entertainments about 
town, for to-night 1 

W. the Elder. There's the paper ; see for your- 
self. 

Aris. {Reads.) People's Course. New York 
Tabermade. Third Lecture of the Series, this 
evening, at TJ, by Prof. Olmsted. Subject : The 
Starry Heavens. Why, what on earth could we 
do better than go there ? I confess, I am curious to 
compare the statements of the Professor with my 
recollections of what I used to hear at our Athenian 
Academies on the subject. It is rather an old story 
to me, to be sure ; but I should like to know how 



106 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

-far you mortals have actually progressed in the 
science. Admittance \2\ cents. How much is 
that in Greek money ? 

' W. the Elder. Considerably less than a drachma. 
Cheap enough, isn't it ? 

Aris. Dog cheap. Suppose we go, then. 

W. the Elder. Be it so. We'll start early, too, 
and stop in at Hope Chapel, for a fippenny-bit's 
worth of Woman's Rights, on our way down. We 
can do both, and still have time enough for friend 
Wallack's comedietta. You'll be delighted, Aris- 
tides. with that classical little theatre of his. 

Aris. What's the name of the piece? 

W. the Elder. Tico can Play at that Game. 
Miss Keene's delicious acting in it, has been charm- 
inor the town for the last month. 

Aris. We must go, of course. But I wish the 
Judge w^ould be prevailed on to accompany us. 

Jay. It is utterly impossible, ray dear friend. I 
have got to meet our Commissioners within an hour. 
They want my opinion as to the expediency of in- 
serting an extradition clause in a treaty that we 
arenegotiating with Herschel. So, farewell, friends. 
May we soon met again. 

Aris. Farewell. 

W. the Elder. A pleasant journey to your Honor. 

(^E.veimt.) 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 107 



CHRYSOSTOM.— CHANNma. 

Chrys. I was about saying, my dear doctor, that 
I had just been reading your discourse on self-cul- 
ture. 

Chan. Indeed ! You liked it, I hope. 

Chrys. Liked it ? I lack words to express my 
admiration of it. Whether I consider the laudable 
object you had in view, the grand theme itself, your 
manner of unfolding it, your earnestness of purpose, 
your vigor of expression, your fertility of illustration, 
or your beautifully limpid style — in every point of 
view, in fact, am I constrained to give it my un- 
qualified approbation. Do you know, doctor, I am 
far better pleased with it than with those of your 
earlier productions that I have seen ; such as the 
Review of Milton, and of Fenelon, and your Thoughts 
on Napoleon ; not the speak of some of your youth- 



108 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

ful and (excuse me for saying so) somewhat mystical 
and transcendental sermons. It seems to me to have 
far more heart and pith about it, more directness and 
energy, less of self-consciousness, less attempt at 
building up stately sentences, less arraying of your 
thoughts in purple and fine linen ; in a word, I think 
it far more to the purpose in every way. Yes, I re- 
peat it, a most charming, admirable performance. 
Dearly as I love my OAvn Greek tongue, partial as I 
am to the homilies of my old brother patriarchs, I 
must acknowledge that there is nothing in them all 
to excel, if rival it. 

Chan. Such Warmth of language, from so ortho- 
dox a quarter, I confess, somewhat surprises me. 

Chyrs. I see it does. But, my dear friend, ought 
it not to be ail the more genuine and acceptable on 
that vei'y account 1 

Chan. True, true. And yet, brother Chrysostom, 
tell me now, candidly ; had we been contemporaries, 
would you not have been among the very first to 
have burned the discourse in question, and the others 
to which you allude, and, in all probability, the 
writer alons: with them ? 

Chrys. Alas for humanity ! what you say, dear 
doctor, is, I fear, quite too true. I certainly loas^ 
to my discredit be it spoken, a most prominent and 
conspicuous persecutor of heretics, in my day ; and 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 109 

you, as one of the most fascinating and dangerous of 
them, -svould of course have been correspondingly 
obnoxious. And even now, my friend, while thus 
cheerfully paying my tribute of admiration to your 
genius and your goodness, I must say I think you 
terribly off the track in your Theology ; and your 
writings, admired and circulated through the world 
as they are, and ever must be, are more and. more 
tending to unsettle the opinions of the planet, in 
what I must consider vital, essential points of faith. 
I speak plainly, you see. 

Chan. I like you all the better for that. But, 
Chrysostom, have we not both had ample occasion 
alike to modify and enlarge our theological views, 
since leaving earth ? 

Chrys. Indeed, indeed we have. But we forget, 
we may not dwell on themes like these in the pres- 
ence of mortals. Besides, our old friend here could 
neither comprehend, nor report us aright to his 
brethren. 

( TF. the Elder preserveth a judicious silence.) 

Chrys. And so, forgetting that we are disem 
bodied spirits, and looking at these topics, once 
more, through our old terrestrial spectacles, allow 
me, my dear Channing, to continue my criticism on 
this same Address of yours, by saying, that from 
beginning to end of it you (at least in my humble 



110 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

opinion) were firing over the heads of your audi- 
ence. 

Chan. How so ? 

Chrys. I mean in assuming the existence in 
them, and in the masses generally, of such capaci- 
ties and aspirations as you did, and in predicting 
such glorious prospects ahead, for the planet. I 
don't believe in either, myself. I think neither rea- 
son nor experience justifies any such assumptions 
or expectations. I think the multitude are to-day 
what they ever have been and must be on earth, 
hewers of wood and drawers of water ; that the self- 
culture you speak of, is now and ever must be the 
portion of the few, while rough toil and rude igno- 
rance are God's own appointed destiny for the 
many ; in a word, that the beautiful picture which 
you have there drawn of humanity, exists only 
in your own ardent imas^ination. 

Chan. Not so, not so, Chrysostom. On the con- 
trary, I believe I have quite understated the matter, 
in the Discourse in question ; that I have not done 
justice to my subject, have not begun to appreciate 
aright the magnificent future in store for earth. 
What I have this day seen^ convinces me of it all 
i\\Q more. Never, my friend, were the prospects of 
the world so brilliant as now. I believe that if we 
could have access to all the records of the race, that 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. Ill 

have been kept in heaven from the beginning up to 
this hour, and had the power and patience faithfully 
to collate them, we should find a most palpable and 
hopeful progress, in all that appertains unto Art, 
and Morals, and Faith. Just as certainly as I be- 
lieve that there are more acres under cultivation, 
to-day, than ever before, more ships upon the sea, 
more knowledge of all the kingdoms of nature, more 
wits trained and developed for the multiplied busi- 
ness of life, so do I believe that there are far more 
hearts than ever, ready for the reception of spiritual 
truth, more consciences alive to the great realities 
of God's precious word. Especially do I beliere 
that the wonderful discoveries in physical science of 
the last half century, and the corresponding power 
of multiplying and circulating invaluable truths all 
over the globe, are to be potent instruments for ac- 
celerating the advent of that blessed future that I 
see so clearly ahead ; and that the day may not be 
so very far distant as some of us suppose, when this 
dear earth of ours, already so conspicuous among 
her sister stars, for her beauty and lustre, will be 
still more conspicuous as the abode of intelligent 
and virtuous souls. There must be long and ardu- 
ous conflicts first, I know ; many the pains and 
scars of strife ; but that the good will triumph at 
last, that peace and love and faith will prevail over 



112 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

their enemies, I have no more doubt of than I doubt 
that those are the rays of the blessed sun, that are 
shining in on us so graciously. Oh ! no, Chrysos- 
tom, I cannot agree with you. The more I reflect 
upon the •wonderful capabilities of human nature, 
and the God-like tasks it is yet destined to achieve 
on this same earth, our honored birth-place, the 
more do I feel the inadequacy of language to do jus- 
tice to themes so glorious. 

Chrys. I admire this beautiful enthusiasm of 
yours, my friend. Would that I could see with your 
eyes ; but I cannot ; I cannot find the facts whereon 
to build such eulogies or hopes. I come back to 
earth from my spiritual wanderings, and what do I 
behold ? No such gratifying omens as you describe ; 
no, no ; on the contrary, I find the children of men 
playing the fool and knave just as madly and eagerly, 
to-day, as when I first preached to them in Antioch 
or Constantinople ; I see the same corruption and 
intrigues in Church and State, the same insane 
thirst for gold and pleasure, the same temporary 
yielding to good impulses, the same permanent de- 
votion to bad passions — in short, the same old thea- 
tre and actors as ever, with a few slight modifica- 
tions in scenery and costumes ; the same paucity of 
stars, the same crowd of stupid supernumeraries. 
Then, as now, if an eloquent divine, like yourself, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 113 

came along, the people ran after him, and seemed to 
be impressed with his teachings. I, myself (and I 
may say it without conceit, as the most famous pul- 
pit orator of my time), have brought tears to myri- 
ads of eyes, have brought many a hardened sinner 
to his knees ; but after all, what did it amount to ? 
Hardly was the benediction pronounced, the flock 
dismissed, before these same guilt-oppressed crea- 
tures forgot alike my lessons and their fears, and 
were soon immersed again, deep as ever, in the per- 
ishinir thinojs and cares of earth ; heaven and its 
joys, hell and its woes, forgotten quite till the next 
Sabbath, when the same stimulus was again applied, 
the same nervous excitement (for was it anything 
better ?) again produced. Harsh and painful as this 
sounds, I yet appeal to your own experience, as a 
preacher, if it be not too true. 

Chan. I must confess that I have been much 
pained and grieved, af times, to see the frightful ra- 
pidity with which my people, after service, have 
reverted to the topics of cotton and sugar, the last 
ball, or the coming election. I have noticed, too; 
tliat when I have been particularly pointed and per- 
sonal in my appeals, there has been a corresponding 
degree of eagerness to escape from the subject. I 
certainly have been, more than once, greatly morti- 
fled and discouraged in consequence. At the same 



114 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

time, my friend, I have often found afterwards, that 
the impression made by my remarks, Avas ftir more 
deep and lasting than I had at first supposed ; in a 
word, that I had prejudged my parishioners, and 
that the good seed which I thought had perished by 
the wayside, had brought forth precious fruit ; made 
manifest not only in the hours of sickness and sor- 
row, but in the midst of the active duties of life. 
And then again, nriy friend, I remembered that we 
men of New Eno^land never were so demonstrative 
as you of Greece and Rome, and were unwilling to 
betray even to ourselves the depths of our emotions. 
On the whole, Chrysostom, so far from sympathizing 
with you, on this point, I must say that I look back 
on my earthly career as a pastor, with all its cares 
and drawbacks, as a pleasant and profitable one. I 
feel that I did some good in my day and generation, 
and I think I can perceive already (I speak it in no 
spirit of self-complacency), the beneficial efi"ects of 
my ministry, in my ever-loved town of Boston. 
Nay, throughout the land, I see everything to encour- 
age and animate the divine and the philanthropist. I 
see a growing regard for religion, a growing indiffer- 
ence to unimportant matters of doctrine and discipline, 
and a corresponding reverence for the grand, simple 
truths that lie at the bottom of our common faith. In a 
word, I see everywhere, good and cheering symp- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 115 

toms for humanity ; a good time coming ; a season 
of peace, and knowledge, and virtue. I see every- 
thing to stimulate all worthy men, in the pulpit and 
out of the pulpit, to renewed labors of love towards 
their brethren. 

Chrys. Ever cheerful, ever hopeful ! Ah ! doc- 
tor, I wish I had a little more of your zealous, san- 
guine nature ; and, indeed, I had, when in the flesh ; 
but somehow or other it seems to have left me. 
Why multiply words, however ? We shall never 
agree, I fear, either in our observations or our con- 
clusions upon these points. 

Chan, I fear not, any more than upon those other 
far more subtle and far less important matters of 
theological speculation, to which you before alluded ; 
and so let's e'en change the theme. Come, tell us, 
brother Chrysostom, where are you last from, and 
what have you been engaged in recently ? 

Chrys, I am just from the Vatican. 

Chan. Indeed ! 

Chrys. Yes, 1 have been spending a few days 
with my friend, Pius IX. 

Chan. And how is the old gentleman, and what 
sort of a person may he be ? There are so many 
conflicting statements and rumors about him, that I 
am anxious to have your opinion. 

Chrys. Well, from what I have seen of him, I 



116 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

should say he "\^•as an exceedingly amiahle, well dis- 
posed man. Could he have his "W'ay, every mother's 
son and daughter of earth would be well and happy 
this very hour ; but. between ourselves, he is not the 
hero, appointed of heaven, to bring about any such 
blessed consummation. He has neither the strength 
of intellect nor the moral courage for the task. As 
a companion, it would be hard to find one more cour- 
teous and agreeable ; no great scholar, by the way ; 
far inferior in that respect to his predecessor. 
Gregory XYI. On the whole, a very worthy and 
very commonplace old soul. 

Chan. Such was my impression. Ah ! Chrysos- 
tom. Avhat an opening there was for a man of the 
right stamp ! Had brother Luther had another 
such chance, now, what glorious reforms he would 
have inaugurated ! How he would have made the 
world ring with his words of power and wisdom ! 

Clirys. I doubt it. In all probability some assas- 
sin's knife would have laid him low, long ere this ; 
still, it is none the less true, that brother Pius was, 
and is, quite unequal to his position. Poor man ! 
he raised a tempest that he could not control ; in an 
evil hour he took counsel of his fears, threw up his 
part, sought refuge in a ruflaan's court, and will 
henceforth, for all his good intentions, be remem- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 117 



bered as one of the least significant of the whole 
catalogue of Popes. 

Chan. A catalogue, by the way, that seems fast 
drawing to a close. 

Chrys. It looks so, certainly. 

Chan. But is it true, my friend, that he intends 
to demean himself so far as to ^o and o-ive his crown 

CD O 

and blessing to the miserable usurper who is now 
triflino; with the destinies of France? 

Chrys. Even so. He told me this very day, that 
he intended to take a trip to Paris, in the course of 
the summer, for that express purpose. 

Chan. I am sorry to hear it. Couldn't he man- 
age to excuse himself from this degrading ceremony 
on the score of ill health ? 

Chrys. Hardly, though his health is none of the 
best. No, no, he dare not refuse, if he would. Italy 
would be too hot for him. Besides, the arrano;e- 
ments are already completed, and every hotel-keeper 
and balcony owner in Paris and on the road, would 
rebel, if there were any change of programme. It 
is so written in the book of destiny ; and as his rev- 
erend namesake crowned Napoleon the Great, so it 
is reserved for him to place the bauble on the brow 
of Napoleon the Little. 

Chan. Yes, but there was some shadow of excuse 
in the first case, for the uncle, villain and cut-throat 



118 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

that he was, had yet something magnificent and im- 
perial about him ; but this shallow imitator, 

This slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe 
Of the precedent lord ; this vice of kings ; 
This cut-purse of the empire and the rule ; 

this — 

Chrys. Why, doctor, you are getting warm. 

Chan. Well, I confess, my friend, it does move 
my indignation, as a true republican, and lover of 
my race, to see this pitiful mummer carry it ofi" thus 
triumphantly ; to see a great nation bowing its neck 
to the yoke of such a wretch, without a struggle. 

Chrys. Pray, doctor, how do you reconcile the 
phenomenon that France is now presenting to the 
world with your theory of Progress ? I see very 
faint traces of self-culture, myself, in the recent 
events there. 

Chan. Too true, Chrysostom, too true. They 
seem to be taking the back track, in a way alike dis- 
couraging and disgraceful. Fie upon these same 
capitalists and pleasure-seekers of Paris ! I have 
no patience with them for thus preferring an ignoble, 
servile tranquillity, to the duties and privileges of 
freemen. And yet, my friend, when I survey, not 
any one province or kingdom of the earth, but the 
whole blessed ball itself, I still cling fast to my opin- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 119 

ions, still see ample ground for hope, and for believ- 
ing in the ultimate triumph of liberty and of truth. 
Nil desperandiun. Christo diice. Hope on, hope 
ever ; my motto on earth, my motto in all worlds. 

Chrys. Well, well, I have not troubled my head 
much -about earthly politics, during my present visit, 
nor do I intend to. By the way, doctor, what a de- 
cidedly substantial and roomy place of worship our 
friend Pius has, alongside of his palace. He tells 
me that he can seat ninety thousand very comforta- 
bly. You have no such extensive accommodations 
as yet in America, I believe ? 

Chan. No, not a cathedral worthy of the name. 
But surely you had seen St. Peters before? 

Chrys. Not since it was finished. What a bril- 
liant piece of work, to be sure ! Ah, dear, we managed 
these things very differently in the days of my earth- 
ly ministry. And the Pagans themselves had no- 
thing to show like this. Even the Parthenon was a 
mere baby-house in comparison. 

Chan. It is, indeed, a magnificent creation of 
genius. Any planet might be proud of it. 

Chrys. Do you know, doctor, that the finest poeti- 
cal description of it, by all odds, that I have ever met 
with, is that of your own Byron ? 

Chan. Admirable, admirable. 



120 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

" But lo, the dome, the vast and wondrous dome, 
To which Diana's marvel was a cell — " 

Ahj I've lost it. I used to know it by heart. Let's 
see, how does it run ? 

[After a slight pause, the doctor remembers and 
repeats the passage.) 

Chrys. Thank you' thank you, my dear friend. 
Most charmingly recited, too. I don't wonder that 
you drew crowds, doctor, in your day. 

Chan, All Byron's descriptions, by the way, of 
the memorable objects in and about Home, seem tome 
to be alike graphic and felicitous. 

Chrys. And yet we are told, nay, he himself told 
me but recently, that he had only spent a week of 
his terrestrial life there. 

Chan. Such is the all-grasping, all-penetrating 
power of genius. Every cultivated traveler in Italy 
to-day, is looking through Harold's eyes at its won- 
ders and relics ; and it will be so, no doubt, while 
one stone stands upon another. Poor Byron, had 
he been as wise and good as he was brilliant, what a 
career would have been his ! Oh, how could he have 
been so infatuated, thus madly to court dishonor and 
sorrow, and an untimely grave, when he might have 
been enjoying a glorious old age this very hour, 
building the lofty rhyme, and winning a name, only 
second to that of dear Milton himself 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 121 

Chrys. Too true, too true. And yet. .my friend, 
after all, what signify to us immortals a few short 
years, more or less, of earthly joilgrimage, a few 
blasts, fainter or louder, of earthly fame ? What a 
vapor is it, after all ! i\.s you yourself remarked, in 
your last homily, an unaccusing conscience, howe'er 
the world may overlook or slight it, is better far than 
all the chaplets ever woven by beauty, all the odes 
ever chanted by poets. By the way, doctor, allow 
me, in this connection, to repeat, in return for your 
verses, a passage that I ran against recently, the 
beauty and force of which so impressed me, that I 
committed it to memory. Perhaps you may have 
heard it before. It is a description of what the wri- 
ter considers true greatness. " The greatest man 
is he who chooses the right with invincible resolu- 
tion, Avho resists the sorest temptations from within 
and without, who bears the heaviest burdens cheer- 
fully, who is calmest in storms and most fearless un- 
der menace and frowns, whose reliance on truth, on 
virtue, on God, is most unfaltering ; and is this a 
greatness which is apt to make a show, or which is 
most likely to abound in conspicuous station ? The 
solemn conflicts of reason with passion, the victories 
of moral and religious principle over urgent and al- 
most irresistible solicitations to self-indulgence, 
the hardest sacrifices of duty, those of deep- 
seated aflfection. and of the heart's fondest hopes, the 



122 SPIRITUAL VISITORS 

consolations, hopes, joys and peace of disappoint- 
ed, persecuted, scorned, deserted virtue ; these are, 
of course, unseen : so that the true greatness of hu- 
man life, is almost wholly out of sight." There, if 
you'll show me any thing grander than that, in 
Plato or Jeremy Taylor, I should like to see it. 

Chan. Why, Chrysostom, unless I greatly err, 
these are my own words, and in that very discourse 
of which you have been pleased to speak so kindly. 

Chrys. To be sure they are, my dear friend. 

Chan. This is really very gratifying, this par- 
tiality of yours ; but I must stay no longer to-listen 
to your compliments. My thesis is waiting for me. 

Chrys. Ah, and where do you preach the coming 
Sabbath ? 

Chan. For brother Augustine. And you? 

Chrys. I hardly know as yet. I shall probably, 
however, exchange stars and pulpits with brother 
Massillon. But I am sorry you are going, doctor. 
I have a world of things to say to you. 

W. the Elder. And so am I, gentlemen. I don't 
have company like this every day, I can assure you. 

Chaii. Some other time, friends, some other time. 

Chrys. Well, if it must be so, I'll e'en go and 
look after my own sermon. So, farewell, dear bro- 
ther ; farewell, my worthy terrestrial friend. 

W. the Elder. Heaven be with you. {Exeunt,) 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 123 



AMPHION.— BELLINI. 

W. the Elder. "Venerated troubadour, this is an 
honor, indeed ! Allow me to present to you, your 
brother-minstrel Bellini. 

Amj)' No occasion for so much ceremony, old gen- 
tleman. We are acquaintances of long standing, al- 
ready. 

W.the Elder. Indeed! 

A?np. To be sure ; in fact, ever since he left 
Paris. By the way, brother B. I saw you at the 
lecture, last night. How were you pleased ? 

Bel. Very much. I liked both the man and his 
remarks. Didn't you? 

Amp. I certainly did. Especially was I gratified 
at the manly, independent way, in which he vindi- 
cated the dignity of Art. Mock modesty and affec- 
tation are so common on these occasions, that it is 



124 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

really quite refreshing to hear a little home-truth 
told with such evident heartiness and good faith as 
he manifested. Some of his sentences, too, struck 
me as being very felicitous, both as to thought and 
style. 

Bel. What pleased me most, was the unpretend- 
ing but admirable way in which he illustrated his 
remarks, with voice and piano. 

W. the Elder. Ho, ho ! And so you were both 
at brother Fry's, last night. I was in that crowd, 
myself 

Amp. Crowd, say you ! It ought to have been a 
crowd. It don't speak much for the taste of you 
Gothamites, to allow such a treat to be presented to 
a hall only half-filled. 

W. the Elder. But, my friend, you forget what 
an immense room it is ; to say nothing of the host 
of counter attractions, that 

Amjy. No excuse, no excuse. Had such a lecture, 
so illustrated, been delivered in Thebes, even in my 
day, we should have turned out in full force. 

Bel. Perhaps our terrestrial friend was not so 
much impressed as ourselves. I should like to hear 
your verdict, my good host, on the performance. 

W. the Elder. Well, to tell the truth, I didn't 
hear more than a fifth part of the lecture. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 125 

Amp. Ah, just as I supposed. You merely came 
to have your ears tickled with the music. 

W. the Elder. I beg your pardon. I was among 
the very first on the ground, and had a capital seat. 
But a young lady and gentleman, immediately be- 
fore me, talked so very loud, and indulged in so 
many brilliant criticisms upon the bonnets and com- 
plexions present, that I was quite defrauded of those 
of the lecturer. 

Amp. Why, you surprise me. It certainly seem- 
ed to me, as I looked down upon it, from the first 
circle, to be an exceedingly well-bred and refined-look- 
ino" assemblao-e. 

W. the Elder. I dare say. Well; well, such 
things are no novelties in our American audiences. 
It is very seldom that I can listen, either to song, 
speech or sermon, with any comfort. There are so 
many impertinent interruptions, so much absurd and 
ill-timed applause with rattans and umbrellas, so 
many rude boys knocking about in the galleries with 
heavy-heeled boots, such a rush for the door, before 
the cavatina, or even the benediction, is finished, in 
short, so much indecent behavior of all sorts, that I 
get quite out of patience, at times. Such outrages 
wouldn't be tolerated a moment in Paris or London. 
Ah, Amphion, we Americans are but a semi-civilized 



126 SPIRliUAL VISITORS. 

set, for all our bragging and self-glorification ; at 
least, in all matters of amusement. 

Bel. My friend, I think you are rather severe 
upon your countrymen. But surely, you liked the 
sino-ino;. 

W. the Elder. Oh, charming, charming. Rose 
de Vries's rendering of the bolero, from Leonora, was 
perfectly delicious. 

Bel. And the music was worthy of the artist. 
Do you know, that I was very much surprised, after 
listening to such a specimen of it, to hear my neigh- 
bor say, that the opera in question, had been a com- 
plete failure ? 

W. the Elder. Failure? A most abominable 
misrepresentation. On the contrary, it was a signal 
success. But he took his cue, no doubt, from a 
statement to that effect, in one of our morning pa- 
pers, a few days since. I saw the article, myself. 
It's disingenuousness was only equalled by its flip- 
pancy and conceit. 

Bel. Well, I am glad to hear you say so ; for I 
was thinking, at the time, that I should be very 
willing to have my name and fame identified with 
such a composition ; and so, no doubt, would brother 
Amphion here, for all his laurels. 

Amp. Yes, indeed. 

W. the Elder. Well, under favor, Amphion, I 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 12T 

don't think that, any very great compliment, myself ; 
i. e., if the specimens which the lecturer gave us, of 
Grecian music, were genuine ones. They certainly 
seemed to me, far more calculated to disperse, than 
to draw crowds. How is it ? Didn't he misrepre- 
sent you Thebans, somewhat, in this matter? — 
Were those the bona fide strains of your day, or 
have we not yet got the>hang of your notation ? Be 
so good as to shed a little light on the subject. 

Amp, I must confess that the specimens in ques- 
tion were frightfully near the truth. Oiir melodies 
were very different from friend Bellini's here. En- 
tre nous, what little music I have picked up in my 
time, has been in other planets. The art was in a 
most aboriginal condition when I sang and twangled 
my lyre, in Boeotia. Our tunes w^ere hardly fit to 
slaughter hogs to, much less to accompany love- 
songs. Our greatest artists were those who could 
blow loudest and longest. Nine-tenths of the instru- 
ments in our orchestras, were instruments of per- 
cussion. 

W. the Elder. What a sweet effect it must have 
produced ! 

Amp. To be first gong, in my time, w^as as great 
an honor as to be first fiddle now ; and the man who 
could handle the cymbals efi'ectively, was pretty sure 
of an invitation to dinner, wherever he might be. 



128 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Gongs and dinners are very apt 
to go together in our day. 

Bel. In that connexion the instrument is not so 
bad • but it certainly is not the first I should select 
as the companion of my solitude, or the soother of 
my sorrows. 

Amp. In truth, my dear friend, let me say, with- 
out going into any tedious details, that I have been 
alike surprised and delighted at the progress you 
mortals have made in the divine art since I was in 
the body. 

W. the Elder. But how, in Euterpe's name, is it, 
Amphion, that you have got such a world-wide and 
lofty name amongst the children of men ? We boys, 
you know, are accustomed to look up to you and Or- 
pheus, and one or two others, as the great founders 
of song, the darlings of the Muses ; the men who 
fascinated the very rivers away from their beds ; 
who made the forests march after you in stately 
procession ; who set the hills and mountains them- 
selves dancing quadrilles and polkas, at your plea- 
sure ! 

Amp. Ah, my friend, that's a matter that you 
and father Time must settle between yourselves. I 
am not responsible for his fibs, you know. But, 
Bellini, what became of you after the lecture ? I 
stood in the corridor there, for nearly fifteen minutes, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 129 

rap — rap — rapping with my ghostly knuckles, but 
you would not condescend to answer me. 

BeL I was summoned away to sup with some dear 
friends in Union Place. "Where did you go ? 

Amp. I stopped in a few moments at the Broad- 
way Theatre, on my way down to the Irving. 

Bel. "What were they performing ? 

Amp. The last scene of your own Sonnambula. 

Bel. Ah, true. And, pray, how do you like AI- 
boni? 

Amp. I was delighted, of course. There were 
one or two little things, perhaps, that might have 
been mended. A little more pathos in the passages, 
just before waking, would have suited me better. 

Bel. \aside?^ She certainly is rather too round 
and jolly for tragedy. 

Am^p. That trill, too, of hers — full, strong, clear, 
sparkling as it was, beating anything I ever heard 
before in earthly bird or female — nevertheless seem- 
ed rather inappropriate in a prayer. Still these 
were mere spots upon the sun. As a whole, it was 
a most charming version. You yourself would have 
been delighted with it, I am sure. 

Bel. You prefer her to Sontag, then ? 

Amp. No, I don't say that. Each is delightful 
in her way. Alboni certainly has the advantage 
in youth and strength, and in the rare quality of her 



130 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

voice ; but as to method and culture, and personal 
attractions, most of the critics agree in conceding 
the palm to her rival. So, at least, a mortal told me 
the other evening, at Niblo's. 

Bel. There is quite a musical war going on in the 
town, thej say, as to their merits. 

Amp. I was sorry to hear it. Art is too sacred 
a thing to be thus made the theme of partizan war- 
fare. Besides, the combatants, while they do no 
good to their cause, are only defrauding themselves 
of a great deal of genuine enjoyment, in giving way 
thus to their prejudices. Prejudices in art, indeed ! 
I have no patience with them, any more than I have 
in religion. What, if I find a good, warm, generous 
heart in a neighbor, am I to stop to count the arti- 
cles of the creed he follows, before hailing its owner 
as a brother ? No, no. And by the same rule, if I 
hear a good song, grandly sung, shall I not make 
the most of it, and applaud it, without stopping to 
inquire what particular planet or system it hails 
from ? Out upon such narrow-mindedness, say I ! 

Bel. Spoken like the honest, old-fashioned musical 
ghost that you are. 

Amp. But, confound it, Bellini, those Sonnambula 
tunes of yours were running in my head all night. 
Where did you pick up those spirit-haunting melo- 
dies? Do you know, I think that decidedly the 
finest of your earthly works. 



SPIEITUAL VISITORS. 131 

W. the Elder. What, finer than Norma? — 
Heresy, heresy 

Bel. You're certainly wrong there, Amphion. 

ATup. Well, I supposed you would impeach my 
taste for the assertion. And yet, somehow or other, 
I am always more impressed by the other. Yes, 
that simple story of rustic love and grief, of truth 
and innocence, for a while cast down, only to triumph 
more sweetly at last — that old story, old as earth, 
to which every spectre-haunted village of every land 
hath borne witness from the beginning — never, 
never, till your day, was it wedded to such delicious 
strains. At least so it seems to me. It always 
goes right home to my old ghostly heart, I know. 
It takes me back to my early days, when I wan- 
dered, boy and lover that I was, among the groves 
of Boeotia, listening to the singing of the birds and 
the gurgling of the brooks, and weaving posies 
for my true-love. And while birds sing, and brooks 
gurgle, and roses bloom, and hearts throb, will these 
same melodies of yours, my friend, be heard with 
rapture by mortals ? Ah, Bellini, you were a lucky 
dog for being born when you were ; when art could 
so multiply and scatter your sweet notes all over 
the planet. How different my destiny ! I have, to 
be sure, a certain sort of traditionary and menda- 
cious fame, as my old friend here, said just now ; 



132 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

and 1 confess it is rather flattering to my ghostly 
vanity. But, after all, what signifies it? What 
record have I left behind me ? What song of mine 
is any human being singing this hour ? Not a line, 
not a note survives ; while yours, where are they 
not heard? What highway or byeway of the world 
is not familiar with them ? In the palaces of kings, 
the saloons of jewelled dames, in every serenade of 
evGrj city, out in the mid-ocean, under the gentle 
moonlight, and along the borders of the obscurest 
streams — everywhere, everywhere are they welcome 
guests ; and loill be, my friend, while the old ball 
spins through space. 

W. the Elder. Yes. indeed. 

" Long as a moonbeam glimmers, 

Or bosom sighs a vow ; 
Long as the wood-leaves rustle, 

To cool a weary brow ; 

As long as roses blossom, 

And earth is green in May ; 
As long as eyes shall sparkle, 

And smile in pleasure's ray ; 

As long as cypress shadows 

The graves more mournful make. 

Or one cheek's wet with weeping, 
Or one poor heart can break 5" 

so long will brother B.'s melodies be heard on earth. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 133 

Bel. Really, my dear friends, I am quite over- 
T\-helmed by the warmth of your language. It is far 
above my humble merits. 

Amp. Not at all. We mean just what we say. 
But, my worthy host, where did you pick up those 
beautiful verses ? Or are they of your own making ? 

W, the Elder. Mine ? No, indeed. I saw them 
in a paper a day or two since. They are part of a 
translation from the German, by a Boston friend 
of mine. He writes very sweet ones of his own, 
but has a particular penchant, when he stum- 
bles over an exotic like this, to put it into English, 
for the benefit of his unlettered brethren. By the 
way, I saw in that same journal, if I mistake not, a 
discussion upon a point on which I should very much 
like, Amphion, to hear your views. 

Amp. Ah, what is it ? 

W. the Elder. Simply this. Does the gradation 
in the scale of human intellect proceed from tone to 
color, or vice versa ? 

Amp. How's that ? How's that ? 

W. the Elder. In other words, do you, with Oer- 
sted^ class the visual sense above every other, and 
regard it as the recipient of man's highest percep- 
tions, or do you, with (Schillings give melody the 
precedence, and consider it the highest exponent of 
those same perceptions ? 



134 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

A7np. Well, as a musician, my prepossessions are, 
of course, with Schilling. As a ghost of truth, 
however, I am bound to tell you that Oersted is 
right. But, my old friend, why do you trouble your 
head, at your time of life, with such subtleties as 
these ? As if you mortals, too, could arrive at any 
valuable, satisfactory knowledge on such points ! 
You are on the wrong side of the grave, my dear 
boy, for any such discussions. Better let them 
alone. Leave them to your hair-splitting, meta- 
physical German brethren. Stick to your good, 
old-fashionedj practical English notions. You'll 
have to find out these mysteries, willy-nilly, before 
long. I might, if I saw fit, make some most start- 
ling disclosures to you on these and kindred sub- 
jects ; but it would be neither becoming nor right 
in me, nor would it be for your own good. Such 
statements would only tease and excite you, and 
keep you awake ; in a word, would quite unfit you 
for your appropriate duties and enjoyments here 
below. 

W. the Elder. You decline any investigation of 
the subject, then, do you ? 

A?7ip. Emphatically, I do. 

W. the Elder. Well, perhaps you're right. All 
I got, I confess, by puzzling over the articles allu- 



£;PIRITUAL VISITOES. 135 

ded tOj was a hot, throbbing brain, and little or no 
light. 

A?np. And what better evidence could you have 
that you were wandering*in forbidden paths 7 Take 
my advice, old friend, and abstain from all such spec- 
ulations, unless you wish to spend the remnant of 
your days in an asylum. 

Bel. Well, friends, I must be going. 

W. the Elder. Why in such haste ? 

Bel. There is a choir of spirits waiting for me 
this very moment. I promised to meet them at re- 
hearsal. 

W. the Elder. What, a new opera on the tapis ? 

Bel. No, no. It is in reference to a hymn that I 
have just finished, and the composition of which, I 
assure you, has cost me no little labor. There is a 
diminuendo passage in it that I am particularly anx- 
ious about, and I wish to give my young friends 
some suggestions on the subject. And so, addio, 
amid. 

Amp. Wait a moment, Bellini, and I'll go with 
you. 

W. the Elder. Amphion. 

Atnp. Well? 

W. the Elder. I have a little favor to ask of you. 
1 hope you'll not think my request an unreasonable 
one. 



136 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Amp. If it be at all practicable, my friend, I shall 
be proud to grant it. Let's hear it. 

W. the Elder. First, then, let me tell you that I 
am the owner of property in the city of Thebes. 

A?n}). What, my old head-quarters 1 The deuce 
YOU are ! You must be doins: a larire business, to 
hold real estate so far from home. 

TT"". the Elder. Hear me through, if you please. 
I am now speaking, not of the Egyptian, or the 
Boeotian city, but of their namesake on, or rather 
under, the banks of the great Father of Waters. 

A?fip. Well, how am / interested in that fact ? 

W. the Elder. Have a moment's patience, my 
friend. The property in question, represented to 
me as a series of most eligible building lots, and hav- 
ing, indeed, a most cheerful and desirable aspect on 
the prettily colored map, from which I purchased it, 
has, nevertheless, one very bad feature about it. 

Affip. And what may that be? 

IV.the Elder. Well, as I have already intimated, 
both it, and the adjacent Exchange, University, and 
Cathedral sites, have got into an awkward way of 
staying under water ninety-nine hundredths of their 
time. 

Af?ip. That certainly is rather an unpleasant 
feature in real estate. But what good can / do in 
the premises ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 137 

W. the Elder. \Yhat good? Why, how dull you 
are, Amphion ! I want you to apply your old fash- 
ioned remedy for such complaints ; to take that same 
magic lyre of yours, to the melody of which, so 
many walls, and towers, and domes, and temples 
have risen, of yore, like exhalations, and proceed 
with it to the aforesaid property, and see if you can- 
not, by virtue of your sweet music, recall it to a 
sense of duty. I do not ask you to rear upon it a 
fac simile of your own city, which would, of course, 
he out of place there ; or even to put up a smart 
Western town on it ; but simply to bring the land 
itself to the surface, and induce it, if you can, to re- 
main high and dry, the year round, and so quietly 
come into market, and attract the attention of capi- 
talists. Will you gratify me in this ? Say you 
will, my dear fellow, and thus make, at once, your 
friend's heart lighter, and his porte-monnaie heavier. 

Amp. I will, old boy — I will. Give me the direc- 
tions, and I'll go to the spot instanter. Let me ask 
one little favor first, however, before taking my de- 
parture. 

W. the Elder. Xame it — name it. 

Amp. Will you have the goodness to sing or 
whistle for me the national air of your country? It 
may be of signal service to me, on this expedition. 
Besides, I am curious to hear it, on other accounts. 



138 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

It is strange, by the way, that I have not heard it 
before, among the innumerable fine things I have 
seen admired during my present flying visit. If it 
accord at all with your glorious lakes, your magnifi- 
cent rivers, your world-feeding vallies, it must be a; 
grand one. So, strike up, old gentleman, if you 
please. 

W. the Elder. Most cheerfully. But, my friend, 
you must know that there are two or three claimants 
for that honor. Of course, you would prefer to hear 
that which the people recognize most promptly, and 
applaud most tumultuously. 

Amp. Certainly. So favor us at once, for I must 
not trifle any longer with brother Bellini's time. 

[ W. the Elder undertakes to chant Yankee Doo- 
dle^ hut before he reaches the middle of the first 
stanza^ both ghosts disappear most rapidly and 
2(ncere?7ionioiislt/.] 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 139 



KOSCIU S.— KEMBLE. 

Ros. Why, of all the ghosts in the universe, you 
are the very one I most wanted to see. My dear 
John Philip, hoAV d'ye do, how d'ye do ? 

Kem. Brother of Rome, I reciprocate this warm 
greeting with all my heart, I assure you. But how 
in the name of wonder is it, that we haven't met 
oftener? Why, do you know, Roscius, that with the 
solitary exception of that brief and somewhat for- 
mal interview at Brother Fletcher's, this is the first 
time that I have had your ghostly hand in mine? 

Ros. Even so, AYell, well, here we are at last. 
We might be in worse quarters, too, than this quaint, 
cheerful, little library of our host here. 

W. the Elder. An humble apartment, gentlemen ; 
but from this hour forth, I shall consider it classic 
ground. 



140 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

JRos. Very prettily said, old gentleman. But, 
holloa, ^liat have we here ? By Jove, what an ad- 
mirable likeness ! 

Keni. Of whom, pray? 

Ros. Why, of your own blessed self, to be sure ; 
Hamlet the Dane. 

Kem. Ah, yes, I see ; Sir Thomas Lawrence's 
portrait. Not a bad thing, certainly ; rather flat- 
tering, though, eh, brother ? 

Ros. Well, I don't know. Step aside, my dear 
spirit, for a moment, and let's compare notes. Ah, 
that's it ; the very attitude and expression. I de- 
clare, he has hit you off to a T. Now, then, com- 
plete the illusion, if you please, by repeating the 
speech itself Let's see, how does it begin ? Alas^ 
poor ITor'ick, — 

W. the Elder. The speech, the speech ! 

[Kemble repeats several j)assages from the 
church-yard scene?^ 

Ros. Bravo, bravissimo ! Ah, John, we had 
very little such declamation as that in my time ; 
and certainly, no such writing. Hamlet was your 
crack part, here below, was it not ? 

Kem. So the public said. I myself preferred my 
Cato. But what was yours, Roscius ? 

W. the Elder. Ah, yes, do tell us all about it. 

Ros. Well, do you mean the one that brought the 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 141 

most denarii into the treasury, or the one that set 
the women crying easiest ? 

W. the Elder. Women ? 

Ros. Certainly, the women. Pray, what makes 
you look so astonished ? 

W. the Elder. I ask your pardon, Roscius, but I 
certainly did have a vague impression, that the 
ladies didn't go to the theatre, in your day. 

Ros. Poh, poh ; what put such an absurd notion 
as that in your head ? 

W. the Elder. Well, there are pretty strong au- 
thorities leaning that way. Festus, Suidas, Hesy- 
chius. Eusebius, Heinsius, Bentley, Porson, Parr, 
Cleveland, Adams, Anthon — 

Ros. Pshaw, what do I care for a string of names ? 
You might go on, in this way, till you had filled a 
metropolitan directory : that wouldn't alter the 
fact, you know. The idea of keeping strong-minded 
females away from the play-house, in any star, or 
era ! Ridiculous ! We had any quantity of them, 
both before and behind the scenes. 

W. the Elder. What, female performers, too ? 

Ros. Most assuredly. 

W. the Elder. Enough said, Roscius. Of course, 
a plump statement like this, direct from head-quar- 
ters, ought to weigh down a Bodleian Library of 
musty treatises to the contrary. 



142 SPIRITUAL VISITOJtS. 

Ros. It only shows 5^ou, my New England friend, 
what a mass of worthless fibs and conjectures all 
classical learning is. It was just so when I was a 
boy. Our school-books were full of the same abomi- 
nable mis-statements, about the manners and cus- 
toms of the Egyptians ; and, no doubt, when Moses 
was a youngster, the Egyptian scholars swallowed 
just such thumpers relative to the social arrange- 
ments of the Chaldeans. 

W. the Elder. I dare say. Meanwhile. I feel 
very much like throwing that infernal Lempriere 
into the street, for misleading me in this atrocious 
manner. 

Ketn. Oh, don't be so absurdly flighty and im- 
pulsive. My dear Roscius, go on with your narra- 
tive. You were about telling us of some of your 
favorite personations. I confess, I am quite curious 
on the subject. 

Ros. Well; I was going to say, that I was most 
sure of crowding the house, in the Elder Brutus, 
in Ennius's Last of the Tarquins. Not that it 
was his best play, or my best part, by any means, 
though there were some stirring passages in it about 
liberty : but the theme itself always went right home 
to the hearts of the people. Asa work of art, I 
was far prouder of my Numa. in a play of that name, 
written by my dearly beloved and ever-illustrious 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 143 

pupil. Cicero. It never diew like the other, though, 
and indeed, was somewhat deficient in exciting in- 
cidents : but it was full of lofty sentiments, put into 
the most exquisite verse. My Coriolanus, too, used 
to be cried up vastly, by a certain clique, though the 
public generally did not relish it much. The fact is, 
Pacuvius did not do himself or his hero justice on 
that occasion, and his play is not to be mentioned in 
the same universe with its Shaksperian namesake. 

Kem. I should think not. What a play, what a 
play ! 

Ros. And what laurels you won in it ! 

Kem. Ah. my dear Roscius, you are now touch- 
ing a tender chord. Do you know, that was my last 
part, on earth, and under what circumstances of 
mingled pride and sorrow, I performed it ? Oh, with 
what painful vividness does the scene rise up before 
me, even now ! 

Ros. I am really very sorry, my dear friend, that 
1 should have called up any such unpleasant asso- 
ciations. Forgive — 

Kem. Not at all, not at all. Go on with your 
story. 

Ros. AYell, I was just about cutting it short, by 
saying, that on the whole, my chevalde hataille was 
Epaminondas, in Ennius's masterpiece, so called. 
That last scene, where the hero perishes so glorious- 



144 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

ly in the arms of victory, at Mantinea, always brought 
the house down, with more fervor and furore, than 
any thing I ever did. That, by the way, was the 
piece, with which w^e first opened Pompey's magnifi- 
cent theatre. I played the part, on that occasion, 
to an audience of fifty thousand of the finest men 
and w^omen in Rome. 

W. the Elder. Fifty thousand ! What ivould 
William Niblo have said to such a house ? Pretty 
busy times among the ticket-takers, in those days ! 
May I venture to inquire what the receipts, in such 
a case, would amount to ? 

Ros. Oh, how should I know! Confound this 
Yankee passion of yours for statistics. We had all 
prices, of course, from a sestertium down to a dena- 
rius ; or as my friend John here would say, from a 
ten-guinea box in the dress circle, down to a shilling 
peep in the upper lobbies. The last benefit I took 
on earth, if I remember right, netted me about fifty 
thousand of your American dollars. The poorest 
house I ever knew, in Pompey's theatre, strange to 
say, was when I was playing that very same part of 
Epaminondas. There were hardly five hundred per- 
sons present. 

Kein. Indeed ; and pray what was the occasion 
of that? 

Ros. Ah, that loas an exciting day for Rome ; 



SPllllTUAL VISITORS. 145 

the very clay, Kemble, that that traitor Catiline was 
driven away from the city, amid the execrations of 
the people, after that scathing speech of Cicero, 
which was too much, even for his desperate effron- 
tery. 1 was so much absorbed at the time, I remem- 
ber, in my professional duties, that I was not aware 
of what was going on in town, though, of course, 
much surprised at seeing so slender an audience. 
The moment the news reached us we disappeared, 
to a man, without the slightest regard to dramatic 
propriety. I was exceedingly annoyed afterwards, 
to find, that while I had been strutting and frettinir 
on the boards, to so little purpose, I had been cheat- 
ed out of the most magnificent burst of oratory, that 
was ever heard within the walls of Rome. But, 
friends, it will never do for me to grow thus garru- 
lous, while dwelling on these old reminiscences. 

Kem. Don't say so ; go on, go on. By the way, 
Roscius, you never ventured on corned}^, I believe. 

Ros. I ask your pardon ; I made some most pal- 
pable hits in that line. 

Kem. In what pieces? 

Ros. Let me see. It is so long ago, and I have 
had such an infinity of engagements since, that I 
can't recall these things so readily as I used to. 
Ah, yes ; my Young Velox, in Afranius Speed the 
Sivord, was considered an unqualified success, and 



146 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

filled the house for fifty successive days. My Cra- 
timis, ill The Ttvo Gentleman of Carthage, was 
well spoken of by the critics. My Corvus, in Plau- 
tus's glorious old play, the Midsummer- Daifs 
Dream, and my Popilms, in the Conquest of Nu- 
■mantia, were both highly popular. Julius Cagsar 
himself. I remember, wrote me a very gratifying 
note, commendatory of the latter performance. I 
recollect making a decided hit, too, in Terence's fa- 
vorite comedietta of Fish out of Water. 

Kem. What, what, what? 

Ros. I stiy, in Terence's Fish out of Water. 

Kem. Ah, that won't do, Roscius. The idea of 
passing ofi" as Roman, as genuine an English farce 
as ever was written ! 

Ros. How's that? 

Kem. I repeat it ; the idea of trying to make out 
my old friend, Sam Savory, a native of the Eternal 
City, won't go down. 

W. the Elder. No, indeed. I should as soon 
have pitched upon Communipaw, for the birth-place 
of Coriolanus. 

Ros. Savory ? Savory ? That's not the name 
of the hero in the piece to which I refer ; but Ca- 
?jiillus, a fine, young, dashing fellow, but most fright- 
fully impulsive, who falls in love with every pretty 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 147 

girl he meets, and gets into all manner of scrapes in 
consequence. 

Kem. Ah, that's not our man, certainly. His 
loves and troubles Avere of a very different stamp. 
I see ; a mere coincidence of title. I ask pardon, 
my dear friend, for the interruption. Go on with 
your enumeration. 

Ros. But wherefore, Kemble? AYhy dig up all 
these dead and gone plays, and players, and play 
houses ? It surely can't interest you much, and it 
only makes me melancholy. Ah, dear ! to think 
that of the myriads of sparkling, pungent comedies 
that were in vogue in my day, hardly a baker's 
dozen have descended to posterity ! And that of 
such a host of superb actors, and delicious actresses, 
as I knew, and who had their full share of plaudits 
and laurels, in the flesh, my own humble self alone 
have been- snatched from oblivion. Out upon the 
injustice of time, the mockery of fame f And so let 
me drop the subject, by simply saying, that on the 
whole, I took far more pleasure in, and will be far 
longer remembered by, m^ buskin-parts, than by 
anything I ever did in my socks. And that, ray 
friend, I take to be your case. 

Kem. I suppose so. And yet, my dear friends, 
Lamb and Reynolds (rare critics they were too,) 



148 SPIRITUAL YISITORS. 

could see a good deal to like in my Joseph Surface, 
and even in my Benedict. 

W. the Elder. '-Pride of the Roman Stage."- 

Ros. Well, my Avhimsical old host, ivhat is it ? 

W. the Elder. You vere remarking, a few mo- 
ments since, that there was little or no reliance to 
be placed on one's books, in regard to antique mat- 
ters generally ! Allow me, therefore, to go to the 
fountain-head, and ask your ghostship a question or 
two. while I have a chance. And first, Roscius, do 
tell me, how old is the Drama ? "Where and how did 
it becrin ? 

Bos. What ! the acting Drama ? Well, I always 
supposed it came in about the same time with grape- 
juice. How is it, brother manager? Am I right 
or not ? 

Ke7n. I should say so. I have always dated it 
from Eden, and considered our first parents the first 
Dram. Pers. on record. 

W. the Elder. And the written drama — how is 
that 1 

Ros. AVhy it began, of course, immediately after 
the organization of the alphabets of the difi"erent na- 
tions. 

W. the Elder. And when do you think they will 
become obsolete ? 

Ros. When green fields do, and birds, and flowers, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 149 

and tlie bri2ht eves of woman : when tears and 
kisses sive out. and amo ceases to be a verb transi- 
tive : in short when the last man alive draws his 
last breath. 

W. the Elder. Your answers, my friend, are rather 
more comprehensive than definite. They chime in, 
however, most ao:reeablv, with mv own sentiments. 
And vet we are wrons:. my orhostlv brethren — we 
are all wronsr in this, or else certain s^'eat critics of 
the metropolis are. 

Mos. What great critics ? 

TV. the Eider. Well, it was onlv vesterdav. that 
I was readinof an article in one of our world-search- 
ing periodicals, (or rather essaying to read it, for the 
document was so surcharged with opium, that not- 
withstanding three precautionary cups of strong 
green tea. I fell asleep, before reaching the third 
page thereof.) wherein it was contended that the 
theatre had always had a very precarious foothold 
in the literature of the world ; had been a miserable 
exponent of the popular mind, even where it most 
flourished; and that the tendencies of the present 
centurv were most emphaticallv asrainst it : in short, 
that there were agencies now at work, all over the 
world, and more particularly in our own republic, 
that would result in making the drama a thoroughly 



150 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

obsolete idea, long before the year 1900 hove in 
sight. 

Ros. Why, what an infernal old fool ! I ask par- 
don, though ; I should not have spoken so abruptly, 
or uncourteously. And yet, what an acute observer 
and profound reasoner must the compounder of the 
opiate in question have been, to have arrived at such 
conclusions ! 

Kem. Monstrous absurdity ! The Drama obso- 
lete, indeed ; Shakspeare obsolete, so long as human 
eyes wink, or hearts beat ! I will not insult my own 
good sense by arguing such a point. But come, 
brother Roscius, give an account of yourself. What 
parts are you studying now ? What star have you 
been starring in recently ? 

Ros. Well, my last performance was in the some- 
what heavy part of La Fayette, in an historical play, 
so called, by one Wiggins. 

Kem. Whereabouts ? 

Ros. In an old fogy of a luminary, some few mil- 
lions of leagues off to the southwest of us. I've 
been in town, though, for the last three weeks. 

Kem. Indeed ; and whose roof have you been- 
honoring ? 

Ros^ Brother Wallack's. 

T^ the Elder. The deuce you have ! Then, of 



SPIEITUAL VISITORS. 151 

course, you know all that's going on in the dramatic 
world. 

Ros. I am pretty well posted up, I believe, in 
your New-York theatricals. 

W. the Elder. Have you been to Burton's ? 

Ros. Oh, yes, several times. 

W. the Elder. How did you like him? 

Ros. I was exceedingly pleased. He is evident- 
ly a master of his art. 

W. the Elder. What i^oles have you seen him 
in ? 

Ros. In the impersonations of Sleek, Squeers, 
Acres, Toodle, the Elder Rapid, and Mistress Yan- 
derpants. 

W. the Elder. A pretty wide range, that. 

Ros. Yes ; and it seemed to me that he filled 
them all, with a sin^^ular fidelity to nature, and an 
evident attention to details. Some of his fixces were, 
not only overwhelmingly funny, but most careful 
studies, such as Theophrastus himself might have 
written from. At least it struck me so. 

W. the Elder. Didn't you find him rather coarse 
'at times? 

Ros. \Yell, I was annoyed once or twice, by a 
tendency that way. I regret to add, however, that 
the audience generally seemed to encourage and 
relish those very blemishes, far more than they did 



152 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

the more elaborate and artistic parts of his acting. 
There was another performer there, who made a 
most delightful impression upon me. He played 
old Grandfather — 

W. the Elder. Whitehead— Whitehead. 

JRos. The same ; a most delicious bit of pathos. 
I couldn't stand it, I confess, but blubbered like a 
boy. 

W. the Elder, Have you seen Jesse Rural ? 

Ros. To be sure I have. 

W. the Elder. A miserable humbug, wasn't it ? 

Ros. Yes ; just about as stupendous a failure, in 
its way, as brother John's Macbeth here was in its, 
or his kinsman's Benedict. I wouldn't have missed 
it for a great deal. We had no such character on 
the stage, in my day, and (to confess the truth), 
though there were plenty of good men, and good 
women, and happy firesides, in Rome, then, we had 
no such reli2;ion out of which to make it. 

W. the Elder. Do you know, Roscius, that the 
critic, to »\hom I before referred, actually objected 
to the introduction of this character on the boards, 
as a piece of sacrilege? 

Ros. Why, what an infinitesimally small-minded 
creature he must be ! 

Kem. Yes ; I should as soon think of leaving 
Parson Adams out of Joseph Andrews. But, friends, 
how do you reconcile all this admirable acting with 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 153 

said critic's allegation of the rapid decadence of the 
drama ? 

Ros. True, if you had been at Wallack's last 
night, too, I think you ^vould have inferred, both 
from the quality of the audience and of the perform- 
ance, that there was some little life left in it yet. 

Kem. Ah, what v/ere they doing 'I 

Ros. Playing the Lady of Lyons. 

Kem. And who was the Claude ? Some vulgar, 
brawny, ranting, thigh-slapping creature, I dare say. 

Ros. Oh no, no, no, no ; tout au contraire ; one 
of the most handsome, refined, intelligent actors 
that I ever saw ; anything but a ranter. Indeed, I 
thought he was too quiet in the earlier scenes. At 
the close of the fourth act, though, he gave us a 
glorious burst of passion that quite took the house 
by surprise. 

Kem. And the Pauline ? 

Ros. When I say that Miss Keene played it — 

W. the Elder. Ah, isn't she sweet ? I'm quite 
in love with that girl. 

Ros. How dare you talk about being in love, land- 
lord, close alongside of the grave, as you are ? 

W. the Elder. AYell, I can't help it; there^s 
something so gentle and lady-like about her — such 
a pleasant mixture of archness and pathos. I 
havn't been so pleased with any pei#rmer since Mrs. 
Mason left the stasre. 



ir>4 SPIRITUAL VISITOES. 

Kem. "Well, friends, I can't stop here, listening 
to any more of your criticisms. My time's up. 

Ros. What hurries you ? 

Kem. Well, I'm hard at work on my great part 
of Georore Washington. I'm verv anxious about it, 
I confess. I wouldn't fail in it for all the gold dust 
in the system. 

Ros. If agreeable. I'll go with you. Pray, who's 
the author ? 

Kem. No less a bard than rare Ben himself. 

Ros. Indeed ! Well, let's be off. Adieu, land- 
lord. 

W. the Elder. One word, Roscius, before you go. 
Do you happen to know of any authentic bust of 
Yourself? If so. I confess I should dearly love to 
add it to mv little collection here. 

Ros. Pm afraid you'll not find such a thing on 
the planet. There are a few stray ones, scattered 
about in other luminaries. There may be some at 
the bottom of the Tiber. If the Pope were willing 
to let YOU Yankees drao' the river with him, on 
shares — 

TF. the Elder, We've asked him. He won't agree 
to it. 

Ros. Then you'U have to do without the article. 
Farewell. 

W. the Eldetk Good bye, boys. 

\ Exeunt. \ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 155 



ARCHIMEDES.— FULTOX. 
W. the Elder. You're wronor, wronsr. wrons:, Ar- 

<Zy o' C' 

cliimedes. Depend upon it, you're Tvrong in this 
matter. 

Arch. And you, my mortal friend, are very pre- 
sumptuous to talk in this positive, peremptory way, 
to a ghost of my experience. 

TT^. the Elder. I really ask pardon. I spoke 
impulsively, as I always do ; but I intended no disre- 
spect, I assure you. However, I am expecting the 
spirit of brother Fulton here every second, and if 
you- say so, we will refer the point in controversy to 
him. 

Arch. Aorreed. 

W. the Elder. You know him, perhaps. 

Arch. To be sure I do : and a most choice spirit 
he is. "We have not compared notes for some time, 
however. [Ghost of Fulton rises.^ 



15G SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Ah. my illustrious fellow-country- 
man ! "welcome, most welcome. Our brother of Sy- 
racuse, here, tells me that you are old acquaintances ; 
else, how it would have delighted me to have been 
the honored medium of bringing two such geniuses 
together for the first time ! 

Fill. Wh}^, really, my old host, you quite put me 
to the blush. 

W. the Elder. But what kept you so ? I began 
to fear that my lightning dispatch had missed you. 

Fid. I came the very instant you sent for me . 
most reluctantly, too, I assure you ; for I was in the 
company of some very dear friends. But what, in 
the name of wonder, v>'ere you making such a noise 
about ? 1 expected to find at least a score of cats 
fighting as I entered. You look flushed, too, land- 
lord. Nothing unpleasant has occurred, I trust. 

W. the Elder. Oh no, no ; we were talking ear- 
nestly, and perhaps somewhat too swiftly for strict 
etiquette ; nothing more. 

Fill. And what may the theme of all this oratory 
have been ? 

Arch. Ah, that's just what we want you to know ; 
a subject which my earthly friend, here, tells me 
has caused a good deal of stir lately in this quarter 
of this little globe of his. 

Ful. Ah, what is it ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 157 

Arch. Hot air as a marine motor. 

.Fid. How? 

W. the Elder. The motive power of hot air, as 
illustrated in the Ericsson engine. You have not 
heard of it. evidently. 

Fid. Indeed I have not. 

W. the Elder. Well, then, sit down, my dear 
spirit, and learn all about it. [Hands him news- 
paper.^ There, my friend, you'll see all the diagrams 
and descriptions necessary for elucidating the mat- 
ter. If, after due examination, you agree with Ar- 
chimedes in pronouncing it a colossal humbug — 

Arch. Don't misrepresent me. I used no such 
language. On the contrary, I expressed the warm- 
est admiration of the inventor's genius. All I said 
was, that I did not think that this particular speci- 
men of it would ever lead to any great practical re- 
sult. 

W. the Elder. And I say it \cill. I believe this 
same Air Enmne to be the orreat wonder of the asi:e — 
the great revolutionizer of the business of the world. 

Arch. And who, pray, is most likely to be right — 
a scientific ghost of more than two thousand years' 
standing, like myself, or a mortal who has hardly 
got beyond his earthly threescore ? 

Fid. Gentlemen, gentlemen, do be quiet, or I shall 
never get to the bottom of this thing. 



158 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Arch. I ask your pardon. Fulton ; but our host 
bere is such an obstinate being, that — 

Fid. Well, well, keep still a moment. [He contin- 
ues his ex(v?iinution.] Charming, charming ! That 
regenerator is reallv a most beautiful device ; so sim- 
ple, too. BravO; Captain, bravo ! "What a saying 
of hands, too, and above all. of fuel. 

W. the Elder. Ah. ha ! didn^t I tell vou— 

Ful. [still talking- to himself.] And yet — and 
vet — 

Arch. Well, great King of Steam, what sayest 
thou ? Out with it. 

Fill. And yet. Archimedes, there seems to be one 
terrible drawback here. 

Arch. You mean, of course, the fricrhtful waste 
of power. 

Fifl. Even so : nor do I see how, with such an 
a^ent. the difficulty can be remedied. Where, in 
the name of heaven, is the expansive force to come 
from ? 

Arch. Just what I told my old friend, here, but 
he would not be persuaded. I demonstrated to him, 
as I thought, that there was not only a want of pow- 
er to start with, but a sreat loss of it on the road. 

Fid. You're right — quite right ; a fearful dis- 
count. No less than two-thirds of the force acquired 
is evidently expended on the feed-pumps, and the 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 159 

poor paddle-wheels have to put np •with the balance. 
That will never do. in the world. Yes. the more I 
look at it. Archimedes, the more convinced am I 
that your views are correct. And yet. what a pretty 
thinor it is : what a fascinatincr idea ! 

Arch. A most ingenious toy^ certainly : but as to 
its ever playing a prominent part in human affairs, 
I don't believe a word of it. 

Fid. You don't think, then, that my nose is to 
be put out of joint quite yet ? 

Arch. Xo. indeed, Robert. I believe that the 
wonders and criories of terrestrial steam navigation 
are only just beginning, and that your fame, as an 
inventor and benefactor, is more and more apprecia- 
ted every hour. I see no rival near your throne. 
Presumptuous as it may seem for any being, mortal 
or spiritual, to assign limits to the progress of sci- 
ence, I yet unhesitatingly predict, and I am willing 
to stake my reputation as an engineer upon the pro- 
phecy, that no power will ever be found on earth to 
supplant steam as a propeller. As to the motive 
forces of other worlds, we are, of course, not at lib- 
erty to disclose them to mortals. 
•I 

W. the Elder. I take it for granted, Archimedes, 
that hot air is a good deal of a motor, in certain un- 
pleasant and unmentionable regions. 

Arch. Don't be irreverent, old man. These are 



160 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

not themes to be joking about. I was not speaking 
as a moralist, however, but merely as a ghost of 
science. 

Fid. On the whole, my Sicilian friend, I agree 
with you. I do not believe that any agent, of air or 
earth, will ever fill steam's place as general errand 
boy and factotum for the human family. But if it 
prove otherwise, heaven forbid that any paltry feel- 
ing of jealousy should prevent me from singing its 
praises with the loudest. 

Arch. I have no doubt of it, my large-hearted 
brother ; I've no doubt of it. 

W. the Elder. Well, gentlemen, after two such 
emphatic verdicts from two such authorities, I, of 
course, give up the point. It isn't so strange, though^ 
that I should have manifested some feeling on the 
subject, considering how excited the public mind has 
been about it, of late. 

Fill. Indeed ! 

W. the Elder. Yes, the papers have been crowd- 
ed with it. Never, never have I known such a 
flourish of trumpets, as that with which the result 
of the recent trial-trip of the Ericsson was proclaim- 
ed to the world ; enough to blow down a dozen Jeri- 
chos. Let me show you a specimen or two. Look 
at that article, for instance [hands Fulton a morn- 
ing 'paper\ 'What say you to that, now*^ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 161 

Fill, [after a Jiasty perusal]. Glowing language, 
certainly. The writer speaks of me, I see, and my 
performances, as obsolete ideas, already. Did you 
read it, Archimedes ? 

Arch. I did. As a mere cluster of pretty sen- 
tences, it is not so bad ; but, in all other respects, 
worthless. So yeasty and turbulent, too ; plenty 
of the froth of the enthusiast in it, but very little 
of the solidity of the philosopher. It is evidently 
the work of a smatterer, also. As you must have 
perceived, there are half a dozen mistakes in the very 
first half column, that no man or ghost of science 
could ever have made. 

Fid. Yes, I see ; and then so saucy and aggres- 
sive ! 

Arch. Ah, my friend, if there is any one thing, A'; 
more offensive to me than another, it is this same 
arrosance of half-knowdedo-e ; this insolence of 
theory-bitten visionaries, who are determined to 
force their whims down the throats of the commu- 
nity, at all hazards ; men who despise facts ; who 
are ready to trample upon everything lovely and 
sacred, in the mad chase after novelties, and— 

Fill. You wax -warm, brother. 

Arch. I am warm, Fulton. As a lover of truth 
and sound philosophy, I protest against such crea- 
tures. * 



162 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Here's another article ; how does 
that strike you? 

Pul. [frlaiicing- at it.] Worse and worse ; in fact, 
perfectly fulsome and ridiculous. I will do the wri- 
ter the justice, however, to believe that he must 
have been under the influence of artificial stimulus, 
when he wrote it. 

W. the Elder. "Well, it has been insinuated that 
the fixed air of the champagne so freely discussed 
on said trial-trip, was a prominent motor of many 
of the goose-quills that were set going on that occa- 
sion. 

Arch. And how with that other old-fashioned, 
world-wide motor, the dollar 7 

Fid. For shame. Archimedes ! How dare you 
insinuate that the press of this glorious metropolis 
is open to any such influences ? You seem to for- 
get, my friend, how much the morals of the world 
have mended in the twenty centuries that have 
elapsed since you used to hob-and-nob with old King 
Hiero. 

Arch, [aside.] I don't believe a word of it. 

TF. the Elder. But, to change the subject : you 
were sayino:. my honored 2uest, that mv liirhtnino:- 
missive had called you away from some dear friends. 
May 1, TS'ithout impropriety, inquire who they were ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 163 

Fill. Certainly. I was paying a visit at Cler- 
mont, 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! You mean, of course, at 
the former residence of your old co-mate and brother- 
experimenter, the Chancellor. 

Fid. The same. 1 came without an invitation, 
however ; but was none the less heartily welcomed 
for that, I assure you. 

W. the Elder. And was this your first spiritual 
visit there ? 

Fill. The very first. Do you know that I have 
not had a peep at the Hudson, no, nor at any part 
of my native land, till a week ago yesterday, ever 
since my exodus from the fiesh ! 

W. the Elder. Ah ! "What an excitinsr and 
gratifying trip you must have had of it ! Such 
chano-es, Fulton : such srlorious chanties ! 

Fill. Enough to fill an epic poem, had I the gen- 
ius to put them into verse. In what other clime or 
era have fifty little years wrought such marvels ? 

TT'^ the Elder. And you, yourself, and Living- 
ston, and Clinton, and one or two others, at the bot- 
tom of it all ! Happy dogs, how it must delight 
you to think that you played your little parts on 
earth to such good purpose ! Come, Fulton, tell our 
mathematical friend here, all about vour first vov- 
age up the river. That was a trial-trip, now, worth 



164 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

talking about. You didn't have quite so much 
champagne aboard, to be sure, as brother Ericsson 
had. 

Ful. No, we were in no drinking mood, that day. 
It was a sad, solemn business, I can tell you. But 
why revive the past ? Archimedes don't want to 
hear it. 

Arch. To say truth, friends, I have heard all 
about it more than once. 

Ful. Indeed ; from whom ? 

Arch. Why, from no less a ghost than Story him- 
self. 

Fill. What, the great jurist? 

Arch. Jurist, orator, poet, statesman, philanthro- 
pist, everything that's good ; and, above all, the 
most indefatio-able chatter-box I ever ran acrainst. 
Isn't that his American reputation '] 

W. the Elder. Most unquestionably. The nar- 
rative couldn't have been in better hands, I assure 
you. 

Arch. It was but yesterday, by the- way, that I 
was inquiring of one of your citizens, as to the 
whereabouts of brother Robert's statue ; and. do 
you believe it, the man stared at me. On my re- 
peating the question, he walked off whistling ; as if 
I had been a runaway lunatic, forsooth. And yet, 
what inquiry could have been more natural, and 



\ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 165 

whose features could I have taken more interest in 
than his 7 I shall have to get you to show it to me, 
landlord. 

W. the Elder. I should be most happy to, were 
it in my power. 

Arch. And why is it not ? 

W. the Elder. Simply because there is no such 
work ill esse. 

Arch. What — no record of Robert Fulton either 
in bronze or marble, in all this broad land ? 

W. the Elder. Nothing of the sort. What is 
more, I doubt if there be any artist in town suffi- 
ciently sanguine even to have modelled any such 
thing. 

Arch. And no portrait to show the stranger ? 

W. the Elder. I have never seen any either at 
the Federal, or any state capitol. There may be a 
few dubious daubs about, in museums, but certainly 
nothing that I should be over-anxious to send to the 
comins^ World's Fair. 

Arch. Why, what a disgrace to the nation ! 

W. the Elder. But so it is. Our legislators don't 
approve of works of art ; and as to the citizens, they 
prefer investing their surplus funds in silks, satins, 
canvass back ducks, perigord pies, and such like 
substantial. I have no doubt, Archimedes, that 
there is more money spent in the country, in one 



166 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

day, on candy alone, than would pay both for your 
o->vn and brother Fulton's statue. And yet, my 
friend, I know not why" you should be so amazed at 
it, when you recall the circumstances connected with 
your own tomb-stone. 

Arch. \aside.'\ That's a home-thrust, sure enough. 

Fid. Ah, what were they ? I have forgotten 
them. 

W. the Elder. Why, surely, you must remember 
them. His own countrymen treated him so neglect- 
fully that they couldn't tell where his bones lay, a 
little century after his death, till an illustrious stran- 
ger came along, one fine morning, and brought the 
poor, crumbling monument to light, buried, as it was, 
under brambles, and its inscriptions devoured, to the 
last letter. Pretty treatment, indeed, for the great- 
est mathematician of his age ; for him, too, who had 
so often saved his native city from destruction, by 
the timely display of his genius. There was national 
gratitude for you ! Ah, there's a stinging moral 
about that story, Archimedes, that impresses me far 
more, I must say, than a whole barrel of sermons on 
the vanity of life. 

Ful. I have no right to grumble, certainly, after 
such a statement as this. 

Arch. Let me see. I was going to make another 
inquiry, but, of course, it is superfluous. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 16T 

IV. the Elder. What was it ? 

Arch. Whether there was any model of the Cler- 
mont extant ? 

W. the Elder. Certainly not. As certainly 
there ought to be. Yes, every State in the Union 
ought to have a complete gallery of models of all our 
steamers, from our brother 's primitive little craft 
here, up to thelast c/t(?/*-ri'^z<vreof Collins. Leav- 
ing national pride out af the question, such a collec- 
tion would be invaluable as a guide for the student, 
and as a faithful record of the progress of invention ; 
but, as I said before, we prefer laying out our odd 
dollars on champagne and oysters. 

Arch. Well, well, brethren, time will set all things 
to rights, depend upon it. The day hasn't come yet 
for statues and galleries, in your country. You are 
yet among the dirt and rubbish, laying the massive 
foundations of the edifice ; the delicate and beautiful 
labors of the entablature will all come alons; in God's 
good season ; and who can doubt that the genera- 
tions to whom they are entrusted, will prove them- 
selves worthy of the master-builders who have pre- 
ceded them? Yes, my friend, poetic justice will be 
rendered in full to you, and to all the benefactors of 
your land. Nay, that very story that our old host 
here told against me just now, I think tells far more 
in my favor. I think he read the moral wrong. 



168 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

The true inference to be derived from the anecdote, 
seems to me to be this : that real genius must and 
"svillj sooner or later, directly or indirectl}'^, vindi- 
cate its claim to immortality. To be thus forgotten 
by Syracuse, was certainly mortifying ; but to be so 
revived, and made forever illustrious, by a Cicero, 
was it not a glorious revenge ? You, Fulton, how- 
ever, of all that have been on earth, surely least 
stand in need of statue or monument. Your produc- 
tions speak for themselves ; no locking them up in 
inglorious slumber, in mustv libraries ; where are 
they not, night and day, singing your praises? 
What sea, what river knows them not ? The dis- 
pensers of fame, the pioneers of civilization, the cir- 
culators of bright thoughts and glad tidings, yea, of 
all manner of good things all over the globe ! 

W. the Elder. Even so. AVhat were all your old 
demi-gods. Archimedes, alonojside of our illustrious 
brother here ? What was the club of Hercules, or 
the lute of Orpheus, or even the wand of Mercury 
himself, compared with the trophies of the great 
steam-king? 

Fid. Why. landlord, you are growing poetical in 
your old age. But, brethren, it is time for me to 
put my spiritual paddle-wheels in motion. 

A?xh, Whither away, brother navigator ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 169 

Fid. "Well, IVe got some little engineering busi- 
ness to do in a constellation hard by. 

W. the Elder. Civil or military ? 

Fill. Civil, heaven be praised ! I rejoice to say 
that all my labors, since leaving earth, have been in 
the cause of peace. 

Arch. But what may it be ?• 

Ful. I am superintending the construction of an 
aqueduct in the star Cordelia. 

Arch. Ahj is that your work? I had a peep at 
it recently. A superb aflair it is, too. That second 
distributing reservoir, with the Corinthian columns 
round it, and the statue-crowned balustrade, struck 
me as being the finest thing of the kind, I had al- 
most said, in the universe. Is that really your de- 
sign, brother F. ? I had no idea that you were so 
illustrious an artist as well as engineer. 

Fill. It is. I began life as a painter, you know. 
W. the Elder. Have you seen our Croton Re- 
servoirs, Archimedes ? 

Arch. I have. They are mere tea-cups in com- 
parison with the one I speak of. But I must be oflf, 
too. 

W. the Elder. "What hurries you ? 

Arch. My astronomy. 
W. the Elder. How? 



170 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Ai'ch. I say, my astronomical studies. I am hard 
at work at them just now. 

W. the Elder. Where are you studying? 

4rcA. In the sun. 

W. the Elder. What, at head-quarters ? 

Arch. Even so. And let me tell you, my earthly 
friend, that the science is a million-fold more sublime 
and beautiful, when investigated from such a grand, 
central point, than you residents of this little, roving 
planet have any idea of 

W. the Elder. I supposed you had greater facili- 
ties and finer instruments there. Ah, dear, I wish 
I was going with you. 

Arch. Be patient, be patient, old gentleman. 
Your time will come soon enough. Only behave 
yourself, and you'll see all these fine things, in your 
turn. Meanwhile, take an honest ghost's advice, 
and keep cool. Don't anticipate matters. See and 
learn all you can here below. Do all the good you 
can. Try to leave this dear little earth in a better 
condition than you found it. And above all things, 
my dear host, give the Rappers a wide birth, for I 
assure you they are the greatest humbugs that ever 
picked a public's pocket. 

W. the Elder. But, Archimedes, am I really to 
infer, from what brother Fulton said just now, that 
there are no wars in the worlds around us ? What, 



SPIKITUAL VISITORS. 171 

no bloodshed or violence, no fire-arms, no military 
tactics of any sort ? 

Fill. I said not that, my friend. But you had 
better ask no more questions. You are getting on 
ticklish ground. I fear we have already made some 
injudicious disclosures. Come, brother Archimedes, 
I must positively be off. So, good-bye, fellow-coun- 
tryman. 

W. the Elder. Well, gentlemen, if you must go, 
I say no more. If either of you should feel disposed 
to look in, however, as you happen to be flying by, I 
shall always be delighted to see you. [Exeunt.] 



172 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



MARCUS AURELIUS.— HOWARD. 

HoiD. But, my princely brother, there is one part 
of your earthly conduct which I can neither forgive 
nor forget, and which I was determined to call you 
to account for, the very first opportunity 

Aur. Indeed, and what may that be ? 

Hoiv. Nor must you be offended at my frankness. 
I am a blunt, truth seeking ghost. It is not the 
first time, either, that I have spoken my mind plain- 
ly to a crowned head, both in and out of the flesh ; 
and they have only respected me for it all the 
more afterwards. 

Aur. But what is it, brother, what is it? 

How. Why, what should it be, but your most un- 
justifiable persecution of the christians ? 

Au7\ How? 

How. I repeat it — your most unjustifiable perse- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 173 

cution of the christians. How is it, Aurelius, that 
a man who practised so many of the virtues that he 
preached, should yet have been so intolerant ; that 
he, who carried out so many glorious reforms through- 
out his vast empire, should, nevertheless, have waged 
war with the poor innocent disciples of the great 
Model- Reformer of humanity ? How can you ex- 
plain, much less vindicate your course in this mat- 
ter? 

Aur. And is that all that Howard has against 
me ? Rest easy then, my friend, rest easy ; for I 
assure you there is not a syllable of truth in the ac- 
cusation. 

Hoio. No? 

Aiir. Indeed not. History has been most unjust 
to me in this particular. So far from persecuting 
the christians, 1 was their constant friend ; nay, I 
did all that I could, in a life, not over-long, and, as 
you well know, crowded with studies, and cares, and 
wars, to protect them from injustice. 

Hov). Your immediate predecessor and namesake, 
I was aware, exerted himself in their behalf; but — 

Aiir, Not half so much as I did. I can recall 
this moment, long ago as it is, at least fifty epistles 
that I wrote or dictated, on account of those very 
persons. 

Hoiv. Is it possible? 



174 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Aur. Still, my friend, I would not have you mis- 
understand me. That I properly appreciated, still 
less comprehended, the sublime doctrines of Christi- 
anity, while in the body, as, thank heaven, I since 
have, in the spirit, this I do not pretend to say. 
How could I, situated as I was, with all my preju- 
dices both as a Roman and a philosopher, enlisted 
against the new religion ; that religion, too, strug- 
gling for life, as it were, on the borders of my em- 
pire ; having, as yet. not one great name, or tower- 
ing intellect connected with it, ridiculed by the cour- 
tiers, sneered at by the scholars of my court, would 
it not have been strange, Howard, under the cir- 
cumstances, if I had rightly understood its divine 
beauty and significance? But that I ever lifted a 
finger against any follower of Jesus, or allowed one 
to be lifted, unless he were found wantonly disturb- 
ing the public peace, and preaching insurrection, 
this I emphatically deny, notwithstanding all that 
bigoted ecclesiastics may have said or written to the 
contrary. 

Hoiv. I am delighted with this explanation, my 
friend ; it is a great relief to my mind, I assure you. 
Such conduct seemed so anomalous, so irreconcilea- 
ble with the whole tenor of your earthly pilgrimage. 

Aiir. 1 persecute the christians, indeed ? Do I 
look like a persecutor, Howard ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 1Y5 

How. Indeed, indeed you do not. Little given to 
flattery as I am, I must say that I have never seen 
a countenance more radiant with benevolence. 

W. the Elder. I ask your imperial highness's 
pardon ; but I really cannot resist the impulse which 
bids me declare, that of the numberless charming 
portraits of your excellency, both in bronze and mar- 
ble, that I have met with in the various galleries of 
earth, not one comes anywhere near the original. 

Aiir. Very civilly spoken, my good host. But, 
after all, what signifies a handsome face, even 
though lit up by intelligence ? Unless the divine 
light of goodness shine through it, what a mockery 
is it! 

W. the Elder. Even so ; and that's precisely the 
secret of your good looks. Do you know, Aurelius, 
that your features are more studied by our artists 
than those of any other classic notability that has 
come down to us ; and, above all, by those who seek 
to reproduce the great teacher, on canvas ? 

Aur. I am sorry to hear it. Presumptuous at- 
tempt, indeed, and most unworthy model ! As if 
earthly pen or pencil could begin to do justice to 
such a subject ! There are artists, it is true, in 
higher spheres, who have treated it more success- 
fully. 

W, the Elder, Who, where are they 1 



176 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Aur. I may not gratify your curiosit}^, my old 
friend. But don't be down-hearted about it. Act 
well your part here below, and you'll see them all, 
and their works, in good time. But, to change the 
theme ; my dear brother philanthropist, (if I may be 
allowed so to call you,) whence come you ? What 
labors of love have you been suspending, to honor 
me with this interview ? 

Hoiv. Nothing very special : I've not been over- 
busy lately. What little I have done has been in 
Ursa Major ? 

W. the Elder. Ah ! 

HoiD. I call the constellation by that name, be- 
cause our earthly friend here, knows it by no other. 
W. the Elder. And pray, what do you immortals 
call it? 

Hoiv. Philadelphia ; most deservedly so, too, for 
there's scarcely a group of stars in the Universe, 
where brotherly love more abounds. 

W. the Elder. Well, that's pleasant news. One 
would infer, certainly, from our christening, that 
there was a fair share of growling, and by no means 
the pleasantest kind of hugging, there. And how 
is it with the other constellations ? Are they all 
given up to the same pleasant employments ? And 
is all the fighting in our own system, confined to 
this disreputable little planet of ours ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 177 

Hoto. This propensity for asking questions, my a^-ed 
friend, too clearly betrays your New England origin. 
But as brother Aurelius intimated just now, we may 
not answer them. This is forbidden ground on which 
you tread. I can only reply to you generally, and 
once for all, by saying, that it is not for the frail, 
feeble-witted tenants of earth, to know or to conceive 
of the duties, joys, or sorrows of an Universe like 
ours. Rest assured, though, that to whatever sphere 
of action, the Great Father may see fit to summon 
his earthly children, they will find quite enough 
there, to task all their powers, to develope all their 
qualities, be it for good, or be it for evil. And now 
friend Aurelius, let me inquire in turn, w^here do you 
hail from last ? 

Aiir. Boston. 

W. the Elder. What is there a constellation of 
that name, too ? 

Aur. Not at all. I speak not of any celestial 
group, or luminary, but of your own little earthly 
Boston. I have been spending the last ten days 
there, under the roof of one of its merchant-princes. 

Hoic. Quite an attractive, exemplary little city, is 
it not ? 

Aur, I must say, I was quite delighted with it ; 
a mere ward, to be sure, alongside of my own impe- 
rial Rome, but in many respects, far its superior. 



178 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Hoio. They have some most praise-worthy chari- 
ties there, I am told. 

Aur. They have, indeed. I have been employed 
for the past week, in exploring them, with my excel- 
lent host. There are no finer Schools, or Hospitals, 
in the System ; and then such a multiplicity of In- 
stitutions and Asylums, for all manner of mental and 
physical infirmities ; so richly endowed, too, so ad- 
mirably organized and administered ; I was really 
charmed. 

Hoio. No such retreats for lunatics, or schools for 
idiots, Aurelius, when you wore the imperial purple. 

Aur. No, indeed ; nor any such Prison Discipline. 
I blush when I think how shamefully we neglected 
these things. Disgraceful as the confession is, my 
friend, it is none the less true, that of all the stately 
structures that crowned our seven historic hills, not 
a solitary one was dedicated to charitable uses ; 
while here is a little town, hardly two centuries old, 
crowded with all sorts of benevolent associations. 
What a mortifying contrast ! Oh, had we spent a 
tenth part of the time and labor and treasure, that 
we were eternally squandering on barbarous wars 
and childish triumphal processions, in the same 
sensible way that these men of New England spend 
theirs, what magnificent Colleges and Hospitals we 
should have had ! Think, think, my friend, what a 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 179 

glorious University we might have founded, with the 
thousands and thousands of talents, that we threw 
away on that infamous Colosseum of ours. Who 
can tell, what an influence it might have exerted, on 
the destinies of the world ; how much more of our 
literature and philosophy would have been preserved ; 
how much more wise and peaceful the whole earth 
might have been, this very hour ! I lose all pa- 
tience, at times, when I think of such abominable 
neglect and perversion. AVhen I think, too, of the 
profligacy and blood-shed, that, in broad day-light, 
disgraced our Roman streets, even in my time, and 
in spite of all my efforts to the contrary, and then 
contrast them with the beautiful spectacle presented 
by Boston, yesterday, (your blessed Sabbath) 
with its crowds of well-clad and decorous citizens, 
repairing so quietly to their respective places of 
worship ; every man, woman, and child, looking so 
brisrht and comfortable ; not a drunkard or vao;abond 
any where to be seen ; not a single uncomely sight, 
or uncouth sound, to mar the picture of peace, and 
order, and obedience to laws, divine and human ; I 
say, my friend, when I contrast the two scenes, I 
confess that my Roman pride quite melts away with- 
in me, and I am compelled to acknowledge the im- 
measurable superiority, in all truly great qualities, 



ISO SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

of the young Athens of America, to my own haughty, 
guilty metropolis. 

W. the Elder. And yet, there are a good many 
croakers about, who stoutly deny the facts to which 
your Highness has just borne witness ; and who get 
downrifjlit mad. at the bare sucro-estion that there 
has been any improvement in the faith or morals of 
the world, since your day. 

Aur. What, no progress in the piety, or patriot- 
ism, or intelligence of the world ? Monstrous as- 
sertion ! As well say that the Bunker's Hill Monu- 
ment preaches no more grand and lofty lessons to 
humanity than an Egyptian obelisk, or that the 
tomb of Washington points no higher moral, than 
that of Achilles ! How can any sensible ghost or 
mortal, utter such absurdities ? 

Hoic. True ; else were all history the veriest 
farce. 

W. the Elder. May I enquire, if your Grace stop- 
ped at Rome, on your way to Boston ? 

Aur. I did alight, for a few moments, on my own 
column. I say my own, though I found an ecclesias- 
tical friend had very quietly taken possession. 

How. You mean St. Paul. 

Aur. The same. Had I been ousted by any less 
notable saint, I own I should have been somewhat 
jealous ; but seeing that it was the glorious apostle 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 181 

himself, I acquiesced most cheerfully, in the arrange- 
ment. 

W. the Elder. Hardly the place, though, for him, 
is it ? What connection, under heaven, is there be- 
tween his life and writings, and your victories over 
the Germans and Parthians, as there commemora- 
ted ? Brother Howard's features would be quite as 
appropriate there. 

Aur. Well, I confess, I cannot see any, except 
that we were all pretty good Jighie7's, in our day, 
though against very diflferent adversaries. 

How. But, Aurelius, was this your first visit 
there, since death ? 

Aur. The very first. 

How. Heavens ! What must your meditations 
have been ! What amazinor, what terrible chanojes ! 

Aur. Enough, certainly, to test one's philosophy. 
Ah, Howard, had I still retained the sentiments and 
prejudices, with which I left the earth, the sight 
would have been an appalling one, indeed ! What 
a chaos of ruins ! Of all the princely piles I left be- 
hind me, some scattered few alone could 1 recognize, 
and they, sadly shorn of their lustre. There was 
the Pathenon, to be sure ; but half-buried under 
rubbish, and deformed by the vile additions of some 
modern builder ; there was my predecessor's temple, 
that I myself dedicated, and that the people 'of Rome 



182 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

took more pride in, than in any other structure of 
my time ; but oh, how fjxllen from its high estate , 
of its once magnificent portico, a few columns alone, 
could I trace, and these forming part of the wall of 
a vile custom-house. There too, was the tomb of my 
imperial brother Augustus, but stripped of all its 
flowers and evergreens, and statues, nay, transform- 
ed into a filthy circus, for clowns to tumble in ; and 
the still more sumptuous tomb of brother Adrian, 
that nonpareil of mausoleums ; there it was, in the 
old spot, indeed, but how bare and black, how shorn 
of all its splendors ; no longer a resting-place for 
monarchs, but a dismal combination of castle and 
prison. What a desecration was this, my friend ! 
There too was the pillar of our beloved Trajan, but 
no Trajan at the top of it ; he too, pulled down, it 
seems, like myself, to make way for an apostolic 
usurper ; and there were his Dacian victories, fresh 
almost as when ApoUodorus chiselled them ; but 
where wa s the magnificent foi um beneath, and the tem- 
ple and triumphal the arch, and his exquisite eques- 
trian statue, that we so loved to show our children ? 
Where were the fountains, and the porticoes, and 
the gay shops, and that dear Ulpian library of ours, 
the head-quarters of all the wits and scholars of the 
metropolis, when I was young; where I so loved to 
drink in the melodious wisdom of the Academy, not 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 183 

forgetting the while, the sterner lessons of the 
Porch ? Where were all these favorite haunts, 
these stately piles? Nothing, nothing was there, 
to bear witness to all these splendors, but a few 
stumps of columns, and scattered bits of pavement, 
drao^ored to lio;ht from beneath the filth and rubbish 
of the modern town. Changes, indeed, my friend, 
heart-sickening changes ! Yes, Howard, I repeat 
it, had I gazed on the sad scene, merely as a mortal 
and a Roman, I could not have endured it ; but to 
the immortal and the Christian, how different were 
the lessons it conveyed ! But why weary you with 
these reflections ? Why speak, either, of the silent, 
desolate campagna, so crowded with farms and 
villas, in my day ; or of the poor, dead Forum ; or 
the deserted, crumbling Baths, once so alive with 
all that was elegant and luxurious ; or of the shat- 
tered Colosseum ; or of my own regal home upon the 
Palatine, once so magnificent, now a hideous mass 
of ruins ! 

Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown, 
Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heaped 
On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strewn 
In fragments, chok'd np vaults, and frescos steep'd 
In subterraneous damps, where the owl peep'd. 
Deeming it midnight : 

W. the Elder, [aside to Hoimrd.] Why, God 
bless me, the Emperor is actually quoting Byron. 



184 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

How. Of course he is, my old friend. "What is 
there so strange in that 7 

W. the Elder. ^\'ell, I confess I was rather sur- 
prised to find that Childe Harold had such an uni- 
verse-wide circulation, already. I am delighted to 
hear it, though, as a most enthusiastic admirer of 
the poem. 

How. I don't sympathize at all, with you, there. 
It is altogether too heathenish a production, to suit 
me. Nevertheless, such are the facts. 

Aur. \who has not heeded the i?iterr2iptio?i,] Ah, 
my friend, with what fearful vividness, has your 
illustrious poet brought the sad spectacle before us ! 

W. the Elder. And is there no exaororeration, no 
sacrifice of truth to poetry, in this terrible descrip- 
tion of his ? 

Aiir. Not the least ; the description is as accu- 
rate, as the reflections he makes upon it, are just ; 
though somewhat bitter withal : 

There is the moral of all human tales ; 

'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 

First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, 

Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. 

And History, with all her volumes vast, 

Hath but 071C page ; and that — 

But enough of this sad theme, ray friends. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 185 

Hovj. If I remember right, Aurelius, you have 
some very pointed remai'ks of your own, on the sub- 
ject of ruins, in the famous Meditations. 

Aur. I dare say, though I can't recall them this 
moment. Ah, Howard, if I had that book to write 
over, I should make a very different thing of it, with 
my present enlarged experience, and spiritualized 
views. 

Hoiv. You certainly ought to be pretty well cured 
of your Stoicism, by this time. 

W. the Elder. May I further inquire if your ex- 
cellency came direct from Kome to the Bay State, 
or did you stop to take a peep at Paris or London, 
en route 7 

Aur. I came as straight, my friend, as the paral- 
lel of 42° N. would bring me, turning neither to the 
right or left, till the Boston state-house hove in 
sight. 

W. the Elder. You didn't happen to fall in with 
either of the Collins' steamers 1 

Aur. I did not. About midway across, however, 
I remember seeinoj a little black thin^ crawlinoj over 
the water, about three leagues and a half below me, 
and looking no bigger than a half-grown cockroach. 
W. the Elder. The Baltic^ unquestionably. The 
captain told me he meant to take the southern route 
this trip. 



186 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

How. I don't wonder, by the way, at the surprise 
you expressed, Aurelius, coming thus suddenly from 
your own shattered town, with its extinct emperors 
and pontiffs fast going to extinction, to the bright, 
bustling, spunky, granite-faced Boston. 

Aiir. It was, certainly, a most startling contrast. 

Hoic. I think, my friend, that I could guess the 
name of the mortal you are stopping with. I've 
been under his roof myself, more than once, too, if I 
mistake not. 

Atir. I dare say. He is very famous, I find, both 
for his hospitality and his benevolence. They tell 
me there is not a corner-stone of any charitable 
institution for leas^ues and leaojues around him, in 
which future ages will not find his name honorably 
mentioned. The blind, above all others, however, 
have reason to sing his praises. 

Hov'. That's the man. I know him well ; many 
a time has he invoked my shade while planning and 
executing his charities. But, my imperial brother, 
I must be off. 

Aur. I am sorry you must leave us so soon. But 
now that we have found each other out. my friend, 1 
hope we shall be more sociable in future, for I know 
no j^host in whose books I would rather be regis- 
tered. 

Hoxu. You flatter me, Aurelius. 




SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 187 

Aur. Not I ; I speak the simple truth, when i 
say that the good opinion of John Howard, duly re- 
corded, I should consider the very best conceivable 
letter of recommendation, the universe over. But 
what hurries you so ? 

How. AY ell. I have a consultation with sister Fry 
and brother Hopper, in a few minutes from now. 

W. the Elder. The deuce you have ? "Where ? 
what about ? 

Hoic. "Well, if you must know, my friend, it re- 
lates to certain model-wash-and-lodging-houses, for 
the paupers of — 

W. the Elder. Ah, there's a good deal of stir on 
that subject, in our own city, just now. 

How. I know there is ; I know there is, old gen- 
tleman : but I've not time to discuss its merits with 
you now. I must go at once. 

Atir. I've no engagement for the morning, so I'll 
go with you, my friend. 

Hou'. I shall be delis^hted to have vou. 

[E.Te7n}t.^ 



^pli^ 



188 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



CORINNA.— LADY JANE GREY. 

Cor. AVhy, my dear host, you seem embarrassed ! 
What ails you? 

W, the Elder. Well, to say truth, I did shudder 
somewhat, at my own presumption, in having in- 
vited ladies so illustrious to quarters so humble ; 
nor have I quite recovered yet from the sur- 
prise of this so sudden and gracious response on 
your part. But do, pray, be seated. Most deeply 
do I regret that I have no accommodations to offer 
you, more worthy of such genius and goodness. 

Lady J. Come, come, my old friend ; there is no 
occasion for this profusion of apologies, or extrava- 
gance of language. 

TF, tlie Elder, I beg your Grace's pardon. The 
mere mention of your name on earth, is quite suffi- 
cient to create a delightful excitement ; but when 
the dear spectre herself condescends to come, in per- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 189 

son, it is asking too much of an impulsive old fellow 
like me, to keep cool on the occasion. 

Lady J. Well, well, as you will. I would not 
find fault with an honest enthusiasm. 

W. tiie Elder. But, pray tell me, Corinna, where 
did you get that exquisite bouquet ? 

Cor. It was given me by my sweet sister here, 
just as we met at your door. Charming little family- 
gathering, is it not ? 

W. the Elder. Superb — superb ! 

Lady J. There are worse in the universe, cer- 
tainly. Ah ! dear, 'tis but a little hour ago that 
these playthings were blooming and nodding their 
pretty heads to each other, millions and millions of 
leagues from here. Little did they dream of such a 
strange translation as this. 

W. the Elder. They don't seem to have suffered 
much from the journey. But what curious varie- 
ties ! I'm quite among strangers here, I assure you. 
To be sure, I'm not over-well-read in our earthly 
flowers. If my dear little niece were only here now, 
she'd have a world of questions to ask you about 
them. 

Cor. Far more than we should feel at liberty to 
answer, I dare say. But suppose you give them to 
her (my dear friend here permitting), with my love. 

W. the Elder. I shall be most proud to.be the 



^ 



190 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

medium of sucli a gift; nay more, I shall enjoin it 
upon her to keep them, and their precious dust (for 
they must die, I suppose, like our poor terrestrial 
ones), ever sacred, as a memorial of this angel-visit. 
By the way, Corinna, I take it for granted, from 
"what you said just now, that her Ladyship and you 
are old acquaintances. 

Cor. Yes, indeed, we are old and firm friends. I 
consider the enjoyment of her society as among the 
very highest of my spiritual privileges. And then, 
such a discreet adviser as she is ; correcting my 
blunders, and checking my giddiness in such a gentle, 
pretty way, that I am almost tempted to do wrong, 
for the sake of her sweet reproof 

Lady J. Corinna, Corinna, don't talk so ! 

Cor. And then, so accomplished ! Do you know, 
my old friend, that she actually talks and writes a 
prettier Greek than I do, myself; yes, beats me on 
my own ground ; makes sweeter music ; composes 
lovelier hymns. 

W. the Elder. I took it for granted, of course, 
that her grace was all-accomplished ! I have often 
regretted, indeed, that she was not permitted to live 
out her days on earth. Our terrestrial literature 
and music would, I am sure, have been great gainers 
in consequence. But I ask ten thousand pardons 
for alluding to a theme so painful. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 191 

Lady J. Not at all — not all, my friend. Your 
allusion was perfectly natural and proper. My 
earthly career was indeed a brief one, and its close 
stained with sorrow and suffering; but, on the whole, 
there was far more sunshine than gloom in it. Nay, 
up to the last few months of my pilgrimage, when 
the ill-judged, wicked ambition of my kindred, placed 
that fatal bauble on my brow, all had been bright 
and beautiful around me ; not a moment, laden with 
care or guilt, can I recall ; but many, indeed, that 
kind teachers, pleasant books, sweet meditations, 
made precious. And even the last, sad, closing 
scene — even that, my friend, I have long ago discov- 
ered, was all for the best — all for the best. 

W. the Elder. And yet, that bigoted, cruel, 
bloody Mary — 

Lady J. Blame her not — blame her not. Ah, 
there was far more that was good and loveable about 
her, than you are aware of. Remember the troub- 
lous times in which she lived ; remember the civil 
and religious storms that were perpetually raging 
about her ; her bad advisers, her profligate father, 
the crafty priests that were plying her continually 
with their false suggestions and poisonous sophisms ; 
remember the innumerable temptations to injustice 
and cruelty, that surrounded her, and be charitable. 



192 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder'. Oh, jou're the same blessed angel 
of foriicivcness as ever. 

Lady J. \iiot heeding the re7nark.\ But, above 
all. my friend, be mindful of her bitter sufier- 
in£:s since leavinsj earth ; the blessed chans^e that 
has come over her ; her deep and hearty penitence, 
our sweet reconciliation, and renewed vows, in the 
land of spirits. Think, think of all these things, 
and you will surely be less ready to denounce her ; 
nay more, may doubt, perhaps, whether my little 
ten days' royalty, and untimely death, were not, 
after all, a more desirable destiny, than her tumul- 
tuous and blood-stained reign. 

TF. the Elder, [after a pause.] Indeed, indeed 
they were. Yes, yes ; the more I reflect upon it, 
the more rejoiced, the more grateful am I, that you 
died just as you did. Had it been otherwise, what 
a sweet martyr w^ould have been lost to us — what a 
precious example for our inspiration ! Heaven only 
knows how many drooping souls that example has 
already cheered — how much faltering virtue it has 
confirmed — how many unreasonable murmurs it has 
stifled ! What are the accessions, indeed, to our 
literature and philosophy, that might have grown 
out of your prolonged years, compared with that 
dear ima^e of murdered innocence, and the lessons 
that it teaches, and icill teach, through all coming 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 193 

time ! Again, had your Grace been spared, who 
knows — but pardon me : I am too bold. 

Lady J. Not so — not so. I like this honest, 
truth-seeking disposition of yours. Finish your 
speech. 

W. the Elder. I was merely about to add, that 
had you lived, trouble and grief would too surely 
have overtaken you. I speak not of the mere loss 
of that lustrous beauty, of the clouding of that 
bright mind, which years must have brought, at last ; 
but might not even your fair fame have been tar- 
nished ? might not " black scandal and foul-faced 
reproach" have dimmed somewhat its brightness, and 
in a way that the faithful chronicler, however con- 
vinced in his own heart, of your innocence, could not 
have exposed or answered ? Ah, yes, 'twas indeed 
for the best, this early translation of yours, to more 
blessed realms. You would have been quite out of 
place in that tumultuous, wicked court of Mary ; as 
much so, as dear Ophelia was, in the corrupt and 
riotous one of Denmark. How is it, by the way, 
that Shakspcare should have overlooked such a glo- 
rious opportunity of commemorating genius and vir- 
tue, and not have composed a play in your honor — 
no, nor even a poor sonnet ? I can't comprehend it. 

Cor. Do you know that I was rallying the bard 
myself, not long ago, on that very point ; and so sue- 



194 SPIRITUAL VlSITOiiS. 

cessfully, that he sat down instanter, and construct- 
ed a most exquisite sonnet upon the dear theme. 

W. tJie Elder. Lives it in your memory? If so, 
"vvith her Grace's permission, I should be delighted 
to hear it. 

Cor. [Repeats the verses in qvestion-Y 

W. the Elder. Delicious ! delicious ! The true 
Shaksperian smack. What ineffably small beer 
brother Akenside's lines on her Ladyship, seem in 
comparison ! 

Cor, I shouldn't wonder, by the way, my old host, 
if you were a bit of a poet yourself. You have an 
enthusiastic, fanciful kind of a way about you, cer- 
tainly. 

W. the Elder. I a poet ? No, indeed ; your 
swan-ship never made a greater mistake. 

Cor. I don't believe you. Your blushes belie 
your words. Nay, your whole air and manner be- 
tray the votary of Phoebus. Is it not so, sister 1 

Lady J. Well, our friend certainly has an hon- 
est, hearty kind of a face. I have seen greater har- 
mony and symmetry of features, to be sure ; but on 
the whole, I rather like the expression. 

Cor. Come, come, my old friend ; own up, now, 

■ * The editor can neither comprehend, nor justify, the strange 
negligence of his friend, in not having secured, on the spot, a copy 
of said sonnet. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 195 

and strike up. I have just given you a sonnet, and 
I insist on having one in exchange* 

W. the Elder. I assure you again, my dear ghost- 
ess, I have no such gift. I did venture once, to be 
sure, on a few stanzas, commemorative of a certain 
cough-candy, which an enterprising friend was then 
introducing to the metropolis. They, and a tribute 
of gratitude to an eminent chiropodist, and a page of 
Bonbo7i-d is ticks, and a stray charade or two, con- 
stitute my entire poetical works. Ah, yes, there 
icas one other transcendant performance, I remem- 
ber. 

Cor. "What was that 7 

W. the Elder. An elegy on a dear Philadelphia 
friend, who perished in the flower of his youth, of a 
succotash-surfeit. 

Cor, Pauvre-eyifant ! But really, my dear host, 
I am surprised that you did not occasionally venture 
on themes more worthy of your genius. 

W. the Elder. I beg your pardon. Those were 
the very themes that suited my genius. Whenever 
I have undertaken more lofty subjects, such as the 
services of Lafayette for instance, or the Landing 
of the Pilgrims, or the passage of the Delaware, I 
have failed signally ; as much so, indeed, as some of 
our foreign fiddlers, who have recently attempted to 



196 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

transfer the sublimity and beauty of Niagara to 
their violins. 

Cor. That was a bold undertaking, certainly ; 
sufficiently difficult, I should say, for the pencil ; but 
quite beyond the grasp, nay, foreign to the mission, 
cither of stringed or ^vind instrument. 

W, the Elder, [aside.^ The very remark which 
I made m^^self. to one of the artists in question ; but 
I got nothing but the epithet of old fogy, in reply. 
You are no believer, then, Corinna, in descriptive 
music ? 

Cor. Of course not. "What perverseness thus to 
attempt to blend arts -VN-hich the Creator himself 
hath separated ! Why, under heaven, have nine 
Muses, if each is to usurp the other's functions ? 

W. the Elder. True, true ; and you, as the tenth, 
ought besides, to be conclusive authority on such a 
subject. But I am afraid her Serene Highness is 
displeased at my frivolity. 

Lady J. Not at all, old friend ; though, 1 must 
say, you are a most strange compound. No, no ; I 
like a bit of innocent fun, as Avell as anybody, in 
any Avorld. 

W. the Elder. I am delighted to hear you say 
so. I confess I had my misgivings whether much 
joking was allowed in those blessed regions which 
you are in the habit of frequenting. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 19T 

Lady J. And do you suppose that our blessed 
Father in heaven hath banished innocent mirth from 
any star in his universe? No, indeed. 

W. the Elder. Well, I have always had a vague 
kind of feeling that it must be so ; but it would 
mightily astonish some of my orthodox neighbors to 
hear it, I assure you. They have drawn very dif- 
ferent pictures of the happiness and misery beyond 
the grave, from those which you have hinted at. 

Lady J. All mortal speculations touching immor- 
tal experiences, must, of course, be more or less 
tinged with. error and presumption. The good Book 
hath said but little about these mysteries, and there- 
by hath left all the more spacious play-ground for 
poor human fancies to disport themselves in ; and 
they certainly have led their owners a most strange 
and capricious dance of it ; framing both joys and 
terrors alike removed from reason and the truth. 
Far be it from me, my friend, to encourage any un- 
profitable conferences on these themes ; still less, to 
disclose secrets which are not for mortal ears ; but 
those same sour, puritanical notions, to which you 
just now alluded (and which were quite too common 
in my own little day on earth), are so radically un- 
sound, so unworthy of God or of his children, so cal- 
culated to rob human life of its true relish and signifi- 
cance, that I feel bound, as a truthful spirit, to pro- 



198 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

test against thera, wherever I may be. But in) more 
on this head. 

W. the Elder. Go on, your Ladyship, go on. I 
don't hear such preaching often. I assure you. 

Co?\ No, indeed ; our sister is truly a charming 
talker, when she gets fairly roused. 

Lady J. You must excuse me, friends. The 
theme is too grave a one to be lightly treated. I 
fear I have said too much, as it is. But, bless me, 
my worthy host, does your time-piece tell the truth ? 
Mid-day already ! Why, I have an appointment 
with Plato, this very moment ; so farewell, friends. 

W. the Elder. And must your Grace really leave 
us so abruptly ? 

Lady J. I must, indeed, and without further delay 
or ceremony ; and so, once more, adieu ! You'll not 
forget that little aifair I was speaking to you about, 
Cora 1 

Cor. You may depend upon me, without fail. 

[Exit Lady Jane.] 

W. the Elder. What a divine being ! 

Cor. A perfect Psyche, is she not ? 

W. the Elder. She is, indeed. Raphael himself 
never painted anything half so lovely. May I, with- 
out impropriety, inquire what engagement she had 
reference to ? 

Cor. What, with Plato ? Oh, certainly. She is 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 199 

pursuing her meta physical studies under his direc- 
tion, and I need hardly add, that she is, by all odds, 
his pet pupil. 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! It :^'as the appointment 
"with yourself, however, that I was asking about. 

Cor. Ah, true, true. That's quite another affair. 
Well, I see no harm in telling. You must know, 
then, that her Ladyship has been occupying some 
of her leisure hours, lately, in putting Comus into 
Greek, and she feels somewhat delicate about pre- 
senting the bard with her version of his poem, till 
she has consulted me as to its accuracy. She mig-ht 
far better have referred the matter to Plato ; for, as 
I told you before, she is more of a Hellenist than I 
am myself. 

W. the Elder. By the way, have you seen Co- 
rinne lately, Corinna ? 

Cor. 1 have. 

W. the Elder. Where, and how is she and what 
is she doing ? 

Cor. Well, to respond in your own style, she is 
in charming quarters in the star Cenerentola, in tip- 
top health and spirits, and writing more delightful 
romances than ever. You don't often get such ra- 
pid and satisfactory answers, do you, my old boy? 

W. the Elder. You're not quizzing me, now ? 

Cor. Honor bright. More than that, she is, as 



200 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

usual, the centre of a most agreeable circle, and is 
living on the borders of a lake, as much lovelier than 
Leman, as Jupiter is larger than Earth. I ought 
to know, for it's hardly a week since I met your 
friends, Malibran and Bvron, there. 

W. the Elder. The deuce you did ! And is Mali- 
bran the same syren, in the spirit, that she was in 
the body ? 

Co?\ Oh, don't ask so many questions. Of course 
she is ; a most fascinating creature. But I must be 
off. 

W, the Elder. What, so soon ? 

Cor. Immediately. I have not a very long jour- 
ney before me, however. 

W. the Elder. No, I suppose not more than a 
thousand millions of serial leagues, or so. 

Cor. Only to the Fifth Avenue. 

W. the Elder, Indeed ! 

Cor. And pray, what is there so strange in that ? 
I have been paying visits to a young friend there, 
more or less, for the last six months. 

W. the Elder. And so you know all about us 
New Yorkers ? 

Cor. Well, I have seen some little of your best 
society, as you call it. 

W. the Elder. And I should infer, from that 
sarcastic tone, that you didn't think much of it. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 201 

Cor. Candidly, I do not. It may seem ungracious 
to say so, after partaking of its hospitalities ; but so 
it is. Especially do the evening entertainments, to 
"which it is so addicted, appear to me to be liable to 
criticism. 

W. the Elder. Your reasons, sweet swan, your 
loasons. 

Cor. Well, in the first place, there is always such 
a mob of people present ; which, of itself, most griev- 
ously offends my eye, as an artist. What signifies, 
indeed, elegance of figure, or brilliancy of costume, 
where we are all jammed together, like so many ber- 
ries in a basket ? And then, the infelicitous ar- 
rangement of the lights, not collected in grand 
masses, and with due regard to chiaro-scuro, but 
scattered all about, in a way to destroy the whole 
effect of the picture. And then, the absurdly ex 
travagant display of the supper-tables, loaded down 
with all manner of dainties and perishable knick- 
knacks and conceits in sugar ; contrasting most 
painfully, my friend, with the entire absence of 
works of art, and of objects suggestive of bright 
thoughts and brilliant repartee ; which to us Greeks, 
you know, were almost necessaries of life ; not to 
speak of the hot, stifling air, the mad flow of wine, 
and I regret to add, the painful predominance of 
bad manners. 



202 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. You certainly are rather severe 
on us, Corinna. 

Cor. Don't misunderstand me. I don't mean to 
say that I haven't stumbled over some dear, delight- 
ful old ladies and gentlemen, on these occasions, and 
a few young folks "worth looking at and listening to. 
But far too many of the guests have been miserable 
foplings, strutting about, with their meagre figures 
encased in grotesque garments, and with an inso- 
lence in their manner only equalled by their 
inanity ; and bold young women, with high-pitched 
voices, and low-cut dresses, in whose faces I could 
see but faint traces of that gentleness, delicacy, sen- 
sibility, which are the glory of our sex. 

W. the Elder. You haven't met with many of 
Shakspeare's women, then, at these soirees ? 

Cor. What, the Perditas, the Rosalinds, the Imo- 
gens 7 Oh no, no, no, no. You introduced this sub- 
ject, my old friend, remember ; and so you mustn't 
blame me for speaking out, in my own frank way, 
about it. 

W. the Elder. You're right, perfectly right. We 
deserve every word of it. I have sometimes ven- 
tured on the same strain of remark, myself, but 
have uniformly been called a miserable old misan- 
thrope, for my pains. We certainly do behave very 
ridiculously, and spend our money very absurdly. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 203 

Cor. So it appears to me. I sec a grand display 
of jewelry, furniture, equipages, in this fine town 
of 3^ours, and a brilliant sight it is. I confess. But 
then there are other things, far more interesting, 
that I miss vastly. Where is your Glyptotheca, 
and your Pinacotheca ? Where is your Jardin des 
Plantes^ your Flower-Garden, and above all, your 
Metropolitan Park, for the poor folks to taste the 
air in on holidays ? 

W. the Elder. Where, indeed? I not only see 
nothing of the sort, myself, but am very much afraid 
my great-great-grand-children never will, either. 

Cor. AYhere, too, are the statues of your lllus- 
irisslini ? Did we treat our benefactors in this 
style ? When I think of our own dear little Athens, 
that never, in its most prosperous state, had more 
than a hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants in it, 
and yet was adorned with such a brilliant marble 
population, and then of this vast and flourishing 
metropolis of yours, and the strange contrast it pre- 
sents in this regard, I feel as if you ought to be 
taken to task most severely, for such negligence and 
perverseness. 

W. the Elder. Your rebuke is a most righteous 
one. 

Cor. But I must positively be off. 

W. the Elder. I am very sorry. Do pray stay, 



204 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

and scold us a little longer. Abuse from Corinna is 
more agreeable than praise from most people. 

Cor. Ah. you're a -wicked old wag, I fear for all 
that solemn phiz of yours. 

W. the Elder. By the -way. have you seen Pin- 
dar recently ? 

Cor. Not for a great while. 

W. the Elder. I had the honor of a call from 
him not long since. 

Cor. Indeed ! You found him agreeable, I hope. 

W. the Elder. Very pleasant and chatty, I as- 
sure you. 

Cor. But, my old host, are you in the habit of 
having these spiritual receptions ? 

TT'. the Elder. Well, I see a few select ghosts 
occasionally : seldom one of your beauty and bril- 
liancv, however. 

Cor. Ah, now you're beginning your compliments 
again — off I fly. 

W. the Elder. Well, if you must, you must. 
But do drop dov/n soon again. 

Cor. I will, and so, bye-bye. 

W. the Elder. Adieu, sweet Muse, adieu. 

[Exeunt.^ 



SPIEITUAL VISITORS. 20-: 



BEN JONSON.— SAM JOHNSON. 

W. the Elder. Well, -well, doctor, notwithstand- 
ing this long dissertation of yours, I don't see "why 
the word i^attern is not just as good, in this connec- 
tion, as the word model. 

John. Just as you please, old gentleman. It is 
not very civil, however, after invoking a learned 
shade, and extracting a couple of guineas' worth of 
valuable information out of him, to turn round and 
dismiss his remarks in this off-hand style. If these 
are your American manners, all I can say is, I don't 
like 'em. 

W. the Elder, [aside.^ The same domineering, 
oracular old fellow as ever ! 

John. What are you muttering about ? Speak 
out. 

W, the Elder. Well, if I must say it, I don't 



206 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

think your own breeding is of the highest order of 
excellence. Besides, the authorities are against 
you. Crabb says — 

Jolin. Hang Crabb ! What do T care for Crabb ! 

W. the Elder. Webster, too — 

John, Bah ! How dare you speak of Webster 
before me? That rascally little, dried-up i^sew- 
Englander ; not satisfied with stealing my thunder, 
he must needs walk off with my laurels, too. He 
be hanged, and his new-fangled spelling with him ! 

W. the Elder. Jealousy, Doctor, sheer jealousy. 

Jolin. Jealous ? The idea of my being jealous 
of such a creature ; ay, or of any Yankee varlet of 
you all. A vile crew of rebels ; why an't you all 
colonists this very hour ? 

W. the Elder. Fie, fie, Doctor ! Hasn't death 
cured you of your tory prejudices yet? 

John. Don't talk to me. Out upon you all, I say 
again, for a miserable pack of democrats ! Ye whit- 
tlers ! Ye tobacco-chewers ! Ye flint-skinners ! 
Ye suorar-sanders \ Ye rum-Avaterers ! Ye wooden- 
nutmeg-makers ! Y^'e manufacturers of worthless 
clocks and suspicious sausages ! Ye turners of shoe- 
pegs into oats ! Ye venders of bass-wood cucumber 
seeds ! Ye — 

W. the Elder. Doctor, doctor, doctor, what are 
you about? Piling up abusive epithets here, faster 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 207 

and higher than old Jack Falstaff himself ever did! 
You must have been having a talk Tvith Mother 
Trollope lately. 

John. Don't speak disrespectfully of that worthy 
old soul, if you please. 

W. the Elder. Worthy old soul ? lying old hussy ! 
The thermometer must be pretty high. I should say, 
where she is. 

John. You'll find it higher when your turn comes, 
you — you — you — 

W. the Elder. Why, what an infernal temper 
you are showing, to be sure! But I'll find a seda- 
tive for these irritable nerves of vours. Let me see 
— ah ! yes, yes : just the thing. [Goes to the libra- 
ry and gets down the volume of the Doctofs 
works that has the tragedy of Irene in it.^ There, 
my old bov. there's an A, number one. soothino; 
syrup for you. If a scene or two of that don't tran- 
quillize you, I don't know what on earth will. 

John. Why, you impertinent old jackanapes, to 
insult a ghost of my standing in this way ! Under 
your own roof, too ! [ Throws the book at his head.] 

W. the Elder, [dodging the saj?ie.] Well, I de- 
clare ! That I should have lived to see the author 
of the Rambler makins: such a dissjraceful exhibition 
of himself! Dear, dear, dear ! 

John, [after a j^ause.] 1 ask ten thousand par- 



208 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

donSj my old friend, for this most unbecoming dis- 
play of temper. 

W. the Elder. Don't mention it, Doctor, don't 
mention it. 

Johti. To think that I should have given way to 
my feelings in this abominable style ! But if you 
knew, old gentleman, what a sufferer I have been ; 
yes, yes, both sides of the grave. Oh ! Lord, what 
with pneumonia, strangury, dyspepsia, and every 
now and then a touch of my old trouble, the St. 
Vitus, I have a pretty exciting time of it, I tell you. 
Do you wonder, my friend, that I growl somewhat ? 

W. the Elder. Why, under heaven, didn't you 
tell me so, before ? To think that I, too, should have 
been so disrespectful to a ghost for whose genius 
and goodness I have so profound an admiration ! 
But, Doctor, you certainly did throw about the old 
Saxon words, for a moment or two, in a style haadly 
to have been expected from one who makes so little 
use of them in his writings. 

John. Well, don't say any more about it. We 
are a poor set, the best of us, ghosts as well as 
bodies ; a poor set, a poor set. 

W. the Elder. One thing, however, that you said 
just now, Doctor, surprises and annoys me beyond 
measure. I certainly did have a foolish kind of a 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 209 

notion that Tvhen the body died, these same disorders 
took a lasting farewell with it. 

John. A most terrible blunder, indeed ! But, 
mortal, these themes are strictly tabooed to us spir- 
its, as you ought to know, by this time ; so change 
the subject instantly, if you please. 

W. the Elder. TMost cheerfully. I wonder where 
your namesake is, though, all this time ? 

John. What namesake ? 

W. the Elder. Ah, speak of Beelzebub, and — 
\enter Ben Jo?ison.] And so you have come at last, 
my dear ghost, have you? 

Jon. So it seems, my old boy, so it seems ; after 
a world of blunders and inquiries, though. Why ! 
God bless me. Doctor, is that you ? How are you, 
how are you ? 

John. Benjamin, my boy, I am delighted to see 
you. 

Jon. But what brings you to earth, Samuel ? 
What's the best word, anyhow ? 

John. The best word, say you ? Sure enough, 
what is it? That's the very point that our old host 
here and I have been squabbling about for the last 
half hour. Best word, indeed ! 

Jon. You talk in riddles, Doctor. Pray what is 
the meaning of all this grinning and winking ? Take 
me with you, lads. Propound, Rasselas, propound. 



210 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Oh. no matter, Doctor, no matter. 

John. I beg your pardon ; a thing that is worth 
sending for me about, half across the universe, too, 
at that, is surely worth telling brother Ben. 

Jon. What is it, what is it ? 

John. Well, you must know that our friend here 
(old enough, certainly, to know better), has been in- 
vesting no small portion of the evening of his days 
in the composition of a tragedy, which he has just 
completed, and about the fate of which he is evi- 
dently very anxious. Indeed, he says in his note to 
me on the subject, that he has strong hopes of as- 
tonishing not only all America and Europe, but Asia 
and Africa likewise, in certain passages of it. Some 
few little matters of verbal criticism bothering him 
somewhat, ho thought *best to secure my assistance, 
as being, of course, the great authority of the sys- 
tem, on those points. We had not been very long 
employed on our task, when you entered. But what 
brings yozi here, Ben? Is it the mere feeling of 
auld lang syne, or an idle curiosity to see the im- 
provements these Yankees are making in the West- 
ern Hemisphere of the Planet? Or is it that old 
Interplanetary Copyright business again ? Are 
you as copious and eloquent as ever on that theme, 
eh, Ben ? 

Jon. Nothing of the sort. I am here simply in 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 211 

compliance ^vith the electric invitation of this old 
gentleman, and like yourself, as it seems, on dra- 
matic business. In his dispatch, he requests me to 
come and look over the plot of a forthcoming tragedy 
of his, and to make such suggestions as might pre- 
sent themselves : the identical -work, no doubt, on 
which he has seen fit to consult you also. 

John. Why, bless me, my old host, why didn't 
you mention this before ? We might have waited 
then for brother Benjamin, and have had the benefit 
of his criticisms. He is a better Latinist than I 
am, you know, and out of sight of me as a Hellenist. 

Jon. But why is it, old gentleman, that you can't 
bring out a play without disturbing all Ghostdom on 
the occasion ? 1 never had any such supernatural 
aid when I composed my ma"^terpieces, nor had bro- 
ther Samuel here, either. By the way, Sam, it is 
but yesterday, that I heard Will himself, blowing 
you up in good round terms for what he was pleased 
to call your most pompous and shallow criticisms on 
some of his performances. 

John. Rather strong language for him ; all the 
more unbecoming, too, seing that I have more than 
once acknowledged their worthlessness, and apolo- 
gized to him about them, in person. 

W. the Elder. You haven't happened to hear 



212 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



what he thinks about brother Coleridge^ s notes, 
have you ? 

Jon. Oh yes, yes. He was perfectly charmed 
with them ; he found them a little tco idolatrous, to 
be sure, in certain passages, not to wound his mod- 
esty ; and here and there, a slight propensity to 
mysticism ; but on the whole (I give you his own 
words), he considered them the most subtle, search- 
ing, delicious specimens of criticism, that ever came 
from earth. The exposition of Hamlet especially 
delighted him ; far, far ahead of Schlegel, he said, 
and worth ten thousand garrets full of such lumber 
as Richardson and Company. 

W. the Elder. Has he seen sister Jamieson's 
Characteristics 7 

Jnn. To be sure he ^as. 

W. the aider. He liked them, I hope. 

Jon. Could he help liking them, my old boy? 
I've cried over them myself. I know, more than 
once. 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! You don't look much 
like a crying ghost. 

Jon. A trifle too ruddy and rotund for sentiment, 
you think, eh ? I wouldn't give much, though, for 
the eyes, that her sketch of Ophelia wouldn't bring 
the pearls to. Ah, dear, when she comes to spirit- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 213 

land, Will has got a glorious reception in prepara- 
tion for her. But I forgot ; that was confidential. 

W. the Elder. By the way, my dear ghost, be- 
fore you take your flight, I've got a little work here, 
that I should dearly love to have you present to the 
bard, with my reverential regards. 

Jon. And what may it be ? 
W. the Elder. Sister Clarke's Concordance. I 
can't help thinking that he'll be more tickled with 
it, after all, than with even brother Coleridge's 
Notes. Here it is on the table. Just cast your 
learned eye over it a moment. 

Jon. Why, what a labor of love, to be sure ! 
This makes up for a whole ship-load of impudent 
commentators. No offence meant, Sam. 

John. She'd much better have been searching the 
Scriptures, all this while. 

Jon. Oh, don't be crusty, now. Ain't there a 
hundred Concordances, more or less, to the Scrip- 
tures, already ? And do you begrudge poor Will 
his little one 7 Will, the great lay-preacher of hu- 
manity ? For shame ! I shall be delighted, my old 
host, to be the bearer of your gift. But where on 
earth is my Concordance ? I might as well take 
that with me, too, and make one job of it. 

W. the Elder. I know of no such work, I am 
sorry to say. either in esse, or in contemplation. 



214 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Jon, I suppose not 

W. the Elder. You deserve one, undoubtedly, 
glorious old poet that you are. But I don't think 
the world has fairly waked up yet to a sense of your 
genius. Your day will come, though, don't doubt it, 
and the Concordance with it. Some future Ma- 
lone — 

Jon. Malone be — 

John. Ben, Ben, Ben, don't be profane. Malone 
was a pretty decent sort of a fellow, after all. 

W. the Elder. An infernal old humbug, Doctor, 
begging your pardon. The idea of his whitewash- 
ing that dear old bust ! He ought to have had a 
coat of tar and feathers, himself, for his pains. 

Both Ghosts. Tar and Feathers ! What do you 
mean bv that ? 

W. the Elder. Ah ! I see ; the custom has 
sprung up since your day. 

Jon. What is it, what is it ? A summer or a win- 
ter garment ? 

W. the Elder. It is a playful manifestation of 
popular regard, and worn in all weathers ; but never 
mind it now. One remark, my dear dramatist, you 
must allow me to make, while I think of it, and that 
is to express my delight, not altogether unmixed, I 
confess, with surprise, at the hearty way in which 
you have spoken of our big brother, Shakspeare. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 215 

There have been unpleasant rumors current on earth, 
Ben, that you were very envious and jealous of him, 
and that you were always glad of an opportunity of 
underrating, nay, backbiting him, 

Jon. I know there are, I know there are. And 
let me tell you, once for all, my old friend, that more 
arrant and preposterous lies were never hatched 
in — 

John. Oh, don't get so excited. 

Jon. But isn't it so ? 

John. It is, indeed. Ben has been most foully 
and abominably belied in the premises. * 

Jon. The idea of my slandering my constant 
friend and benefactor ; the man who brought out my 
first play ; nay, who condescended to take a subor- 
dinate part in it, busy as he was at the time, and 
having a severe attack of Influenza, into the bar- 
gain ; the man in whose mahogany I have seen my 
old phiz a thousand times ; nay, whose pall I helped 
bear^ when they laid him in the earth ; the idea, I 
say, of my slandering his memory — isn't it too ab- 
surd 1 

W. the Elder. I was never willing to believe it, 
I assure you; especially, too, when I thought of 
those elaborate and stately verses of yours, in his 
honor. 



216 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Jon. I have been called a bully, too, and an habit- 
ual sot. 

W. the Elder. That is too ridiculous, that last 
charge. The ghost who can point to ten such mas- 
sive volumes as those on yonder shelf, all filled with 
tip top reading, needn't trouble himself much about 
such an absurd fib as that. Still, to be candid, you 
don't look like an habitual teetotaler, even now. 

John. No, indeed, Ben. 

Jon. Don't you talk. Doctor. You yourself, if I 
am not mistaken, have been accused of punishing 
the port pretty extensively while here below. 

John. Too true, too true. Yes, I am ashamed to 
confess it, I was quite too much in the habit, while 
in the body, of running away from my troubles and 
pains, and taking refuge in the bottle, instead of 
standing up and facing them like a Christian. 

W. the Elder, [impulsively,^ You are a glorious 
old fellow, doctor, and deserve the best glass of wine 
on the planet, for that speech. I ask your pardon, 
though. I am always making a fool of myself. 

Jon. You certainly are a queer customer, my old 
bachelor friend. 

W. the Elder. Widower, if you please. But 
come, spectres, what say you to stopping and taking 
pot-luck with me 7 There are a few Yankee notions 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 217 

in tliis town of ours that I should really like to have 
you see, and in the evening -we'll to business. 

John. Well, really, my time is so very valuable 
at this particular juncture that — 

W. the Elder. Why, what makes you so busy ? 

John. I am getting out the 34th edition of my 
Polyglott Plutarch. 

W. the Elder. Whereabouts ? 

John. In Geor^ium Sidus. 

W. the Elder. The deuce you are ! How is King 
Oeorge about these times, if I may be so bold ? 

John. Rather poorly, I am sorry to say. 

Jon. Come, come, doctor, I don't see why you can't 
take a day's recreation, as well as any other ghost, 
/shall stay and dine with the old gentleman, any- 
how. 

John. Well, Ben, if you say so — 

Jon. I do say so, Sam, most decidedly. 

John. So be it, then. But where are you going, 
landlord ? 

W. the Elder. Only to make a suggestion or two 
to the cook. I'll be back presently. Meanwhile 
amuse yourself with that [hands him a morning' 
paper, Ben Jonson loses himself at the same ii?ne 
in the pages of Doggetfs Directory.^ 

W. the Elder, [re-entering.] Well, friends, I have 



218 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

not kept you -waiting long, I hope. Ah, Ben, what 
poetry have you got there ? 

Jon. Poetry ? 

W, the Elder. Oh, I beg your pardon, I see ; 
hunting up your namesakes, eh ? You find a pretty 
large home circle there, do you not ? 

Jon. Yes, indeed. Here are at least a score of 
Benjamin Jonsons, all in a row. They seem to be 
mostly men of color, however, and engaged in the 
white-washing line. 

Johru What a state of things, to be sure. Such 
unblushing impudence, too ! 

Jo7i. Holloa, doctor, what are you getting so ex 
cited about ? 

John. If this is your democracy, these the results 
of Independence, God save the King, say I, to all 
eternity ! 

Jon. What are you grunting about, eh ? 

John. Why the scoundrel editor, here, actually 
congratulates the country on the election of a Barn- 
butmer to the gubernatorial chair. Think of that, 
Ben ; a barn-burner, — a wretch that in our time 
would have dangled at Tyburn, made governor ! 
There's Republicanism for you. 

Jon. Y^'es, and of a pretty rosy tint, I should say. 

W. the Elder. Poh, poh, doctor ; what affectation ! 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 219 

You must have seen at once that that is a mere nick- 
name. 

JoJm. Well, well, that alters the case. He goes 
on to say, '■ The Lieutenant Governor, on the other 
hand, is a Hard-Shell Hunker, of the worst kind.' 
What, in the name of wonder, is a Hard-Shell 
Hunker 1 

Jon. Why don't you look it out ? There's your 
own dictionary, there, right under your nose. 

Joh7i. Pshaw ! Come, old gentleman, throw a 
little light on this subject, if you please. 

W. the Elder. Well, doctor, a hard-shell hunker 
means a thorough going old tory, and enemy of pro- 
gress, — just what you would have been, asking your 
pardon, this very moment, had you been a live yan- 
kee and voter in the empire State here, and not an 
English ghost. 

John. But why hard-shell? — why hard-shell? 

W. the Elder. Well, I was about to add that the 
terms Hunker and Barnburner relate to State ques- 
tions, while the distinctions of soft and hard shell 
have reference to Federal difficulties, and more espe- 
cially to the famous Compromise measures of 1850. 

Jo7i. Oh, confound your yankee politics ! Sam, 
how the deuce does this interest us ? 

W, the Elder. So I say ; besides, it would take 
at least a century to explain the thing properly. 



220 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Jolui. Well, well, hang the newspaper ! But 
have you a monthly among you ? 

W. the Elder. Have we a monthly among us ? 
To be sure we have ; half a dozen tip-top ones. 
Here are some of them on the table, now ; there's 
old Knick to begin with — the oldest and best of them 
all ; full of his fun, 1 can tell you. [Hands him the 
Knickerbocker. \ 

John. Ahj that print is too fine for my old eyes. 
But what's that pleasant looking document in green 1 

W. the Elder. Putnam. Its inside is quite as 
pleasant too, I assure you. 

John. It has a far more cheerful, sprightly look 
to me than the other. What superb cuts, too ! 

W. the Elder. But here's the boy. [Hands him 
Harper.^ What do you suppose, now, doctor, is the 
circulation of this world-searcher ? 

John. Oh, how should I know ? Some six or sev- 
en thousand, perhaps. 

W. the Elder. 180,000. 

John. You amaze me ! Why that's at least a 
hundred and seventy five thousand more subscribers 
than brother Cave ever had. in his palmiest days. 

W. the Elder. By the way, what did brother 
Cave charge a number ? 

John. Why, a crown, of course ; the old price. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 221 

W. the Elder. And Harper only charges a quar- 
ter ! 

Jo/ill. Hang your yankee currency ? Hovr much 
sterling ? 

W. the Elder. A shilling. 

John. Whew ! what, all this for a shillins: ? It 
looks like real good stuff, too. [Runs his eye over 
the co7ite?its.] Napoleon Bonaparte — Moneij a 
Motor — My Novel — The Last of the Bourbons — 
Homes of American Publishers — Nero a Gentle- 
inan and a Scholar — Editor's Drawer — Books of 
the Month. By the way, how are criticisms a bushel, 
now ? . • 

W. the Elder. What is it ? 

John. I asked you how much criticisms were a 
bushel ? 

W. the Elder. I dont understand you, Doctor. 
John. Poh, poh ! none of your nonsense. You a 
literary man, and not know the market-rates ? Come, 
show us a few of your samples. What do you ex- 
pect to give now for a dozen first-rate puffs for your 
forthcoming opiate, — I ask your pardon, — tragedy. I 
meant to say ? AVhat ought I to pay an acre, for 
Musical Notices? sound orthodox Sermons, too ; what 
are they worth a barrel ? Why, what's the matter 
with the man ? Come, come, haven't you a tariff of 
prices to show a ghost? 



222 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Doctor Johnson ! 

Jo/ui. Well, what is it ? 

W. the Elder. I am perfectly thunderstruck at 
the tone of your remarks. Do you dare to insinuate 
that criticism has become an article of merchandise 
among us ? Fie, fie, for shame ! Let me tell you, 
once for all, that however much you old Englanders 
of the 18th century may have disgraced yourselves 
in this v/ay, we New Englanders of the 19th cen- 
tury have a perfect scorn for all such transactions. 

John. Well, well, well ; no offence meant ; let's 
change the subject. It won't do for us to be wasting 
the day, either, in chattering. What are these same 
lions that you proposed to show us ? 

W. the Elder. First and foremost, there's the 
Crystal Palace ; then the Hippodrome ; the Acade- 
my of Design ; the Egyptian Antiquities : in fact a 
score of things that I think would interest you. By 
the way, what belated you so, Ben? I was afraid 
you were not going to respond to my invocation, at 
first. 

Jon. Well, the truth is, somehow or other, I took 
the wrong parallel, and so, instead of striking Go- 
tham, I came plump into Portland. 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! You might have got to 
a worse place. A fine, sprightly little city ; you 
were charmed with it, I dare say. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 223 

Jon. I beg your pardon ; I was never more inhos- 
pitably treated, in all my experience. 

W. the Elder. How so ? 

Jon. Well, you must know, that being somewhat 
exhausted, after my 'long serial jaunt, presently after 
alighting at the hotel, I called for a little brandy and 
water ; and what do you think the landlord told me ? 
Such a landlord, too ; a long, lean, melancholy look- 
ing person, in purple spectacles ; the very opposite, 
in all respects, of my host of the Mermaid. ^ Indi- 
vidual,' said he, with marked solemnity of manner, 
and with a singularly nasal twang, ' are you not 
aware that it is contrary to law V ' What V said I. 
^ Why.' said he, ' dealing in ardent spirits.' • What,' 
said I, ' Do you really mean to tell me, that a re- 
spectable foreigner can't mix a little weak grog here 
in a gentlemanly way, without running against the 
statute-book ?' ' I do,' said he, ' most distinctly.' 
' Off I go, then,' said I, 'posthaste.' ' Stop,' said he, 
' if you are positively unwell, and under medical ad- 
vice, follow me, without further remarks.' I did so. 
He straightway conducted me through a long, nar- 
row passage, into a room with closed shutters, where, 
by gas-light, he administered unto me, under a name 
as long as himself, which I cannot now recall, some 
of the fieriest Hollands I ever encountered. 

John. That was no place for yoii^ Ben, evidently. 



224 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Jon. No, indeed ; I was right glad to get into an- 
other jurisdiction, I assure you. 

W. the Elder. Well, they're a pretty queer set, 
up that way. Their intentions are good, 1 dare say ; 
but I've no great faith in such legislation, myself. 
But come, spirits, let's be off, while daylight lasts. 

[Exeunt.^ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 225 



JULIUS C^SAR.— ZACHARY TAYLOR. 

CcBS. I beg your pardon, General ; I consider my- 
self the honored party on this occasion. 

Tay. No, no, no ! don't talk so ; the idea of put- 
ting an old fashioned Yankee Soldier, like me, on 
the same platform with the greatest fighter of all 
antiquity ; I — 

Cms. You are too modest, by half. I tell you 
again, nothing I ever did in Gaul, or Parthia, or 
Africa, is to be named in the same century with that 
affair at Buena Vista. 

Tay. Oh, you're joking. 

Cces. I am not joking ; nor am I alone in the 
opinion. 'Twas but yesterday that I heard Epami- 
nondas and Marlborough both saying the very same 
thing. Leonidas, too, who ought to know what good 
fighting is, expressed himself most emphatically, on 



226 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

the subject ; and also concerning the capture of 
Monterey. He looked upon both performances, he 
said, as among the very happiest military hits on 
record. 

Tay. Well, well ; after such authorities, it would 
be sheer affectation in me to say otherwise. I cer- 
tainly tried to do my duty on that occasion^ 

Cces. You did it, too, most nobly, gloriously, my 
old friend : ay, and on all other occasions, civil and 
military. I have been longing for an opportunity to 
tell you so. I know all about you, you see. 

Tay. Through what channel, may I ask ? 

CcBS. Well, the military part of your career was 
recited to me, not long since^ and with a delightful 
enthusiasm, by your gallant brother, Worth, the 
American Miirat^ as we all call him ; while the civil 
portion of it, was rendered ample justice to, let me 
tell you, by that choicest of choice spirits, Henry 
Clay himself 

Tay. Indeed ! That was very magnanimous in 
brother Hal, considering that I (most innocently, it 
is true, nay reluctantly), stood so in the way of his 
earthly ambition. He alluded, then, did he, to the 
Presidential campaign ? 

Cms. He told me the whole story ; and, so far as 
I could judge, with perfect frankness and good- 
humor. He wound up his narrative, I remember, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 227 

by remarking, with great emphasis, that he would 
rather be right than President or Emperor of the 
best star in the universe. A glorious sentiment, 
Zachary ! Ah, dear ; I wish I had acted up to it 
in my little day on earth. I should be in much 
better spirits this very hour, I assure you. That 
all-grasping, guilty ambition of mine was a terrible 
curse, both to me and to Rome. Candidly, now 
General, don't you think it would have been far bet- 
ter for the world, if I had never been born ? 

Tay. The Lord saw fit to send you here, Julius, 
and that I consider a sufficient answer to your ques- 
tion. 

C(Bs. A most soldier-like one, certainly. 

Tay. Why he permitted you to raise the old 
boy, as you did, is another matter. But I've no 
doubt the mystery will be cleared up, all in good 
time. I'm but a novice yet in things spiritual, and 
should rather seek light from you on these points, 
than venture on any opinion of my own. But be that 
as it may, I can't help liking you, anyhow, Caesar, 
with all your imperfections. 

CcBS. Ditto, ditto, with all my soul \ Tes, I was 
quite in love with you, Zachary, at the very first 
blush. And so I was telling our earthly friend, 
here, before you came, while studying that tip-top 
bust of vours, Humbug ap^rt, I consider it worth 



228 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

a journey across a score of milky-ways, to shake 
such an honest old fellow by the hand. 

Tay. Well, it certainly is most gratifying, to be 
talked to in this style, by so illustrious a spectre ; 
so, so — 

CcBS. Brilliant alike in the boudoir and in the 
cabinet, on the stump and in the field. That's what 
you were going to say, General, is it not ? 

Tay. Precisely; only you have put it in as many 
words as I should have used sentences. I was go- 
ing to add, however, by one whom I can't help think- 
ing (asking Plutarch's pardon), a far greater com- 
mander than Alexander himself. 

Coes. Inter nos. Zachary, I don't think much of 
Plutarch. 

Tay. I'm sorry to hear you say that. Why so ? 

Cces. Ohj he's such a superstitious, sentimental 
old twaddler. And, then, so inaccurate, and, above 
all, so full of his Grecian prejudices ! Confound 
the fellow ; do you know that he actually accuses 
me, in that lie of a life of his, of cutting a million 
of men to pieces, in my time ? I was bad enough, 
heaven knows ; but not quite such a wretch as that 
comes to. 

Tay. 1 remember the passage. I dropped a 
cypher, mentally, when I read it, as being probably 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 229 

nearer the truth ; and, as you say, bad enough at 
that. 

CcBs. Too true, too true ; and yet I can't help 
regretting, now and then, General, that I hadn't a 
little of your flying artillery with me, in Gaul. I 
should have dearly loved to have given Arnbio- 
rix, and Vercingetorix, and the rest of those Gallic 
rascals, an occasional shower of that same grape 
that you threw in, to such purpose, among those 
trumpet-blowing Mexicans ; eh, Zach 1 

Tay. Fie, fie, Julius ; don't talk so. These are 
no themes to be trifled with. I say again, you made 
quite havoc enough, in your day, without resorting 
to the murderous contrivances of modern times. — 
That one affair with the Nervii, alone ; what a terri* 
ble, terrible day's work that was ! Think of those 
sixty thousand brave fellows, that bit the dust be- 
tween sun and sun ! Fighting for their own fire- 
sides, too, at that ! Bad, bad business, C^sar ! I 
almost wished, when I first read about it, that you 
had shared their fate : but perhaps another cypher 
ought to be dropped here, too ; how is it ? 

CcBS. No, no; the statement is quite too correct. 
You'll find the same figures in my Commentaries. 

W. the Elder. Here is the volume, right by, if 
you would like to refer to it. 

CcBS. Never mind, never mind, old gentleman. 



230 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

[After a short pause.] Yes, yes, take it for all in all, 
that was the hardest day's fight, and the narrowest 
escape, that I ever had. The old Tenths too ; Jove 
bless 'em ; how they covered themselves with glory 
on that day. Your own Kentucky volunteers. Gen- 
eral, couldn't have done greater wonders. 

Tay As a mere specimen of pluck, I grant you, 
it was a brilliant affair ; the prettiest thing you did, 
perhaps, in all your Gallic campaigns ; unless the 
putting up of that famous bridge — 

W. the Elder. Oh, General, don't speak of that 
infernal bridge, if you please. It recalls altogether 
too many sound thrashings, I assure you. 

Cces. Thrashings ! what does the old gentleman 
mean by that ? You smile. General. What is the 
mystery ? Explain, explain. 

Tay. You are not aware, then, Caesar, it seems, 
that these same Commentaries of yours have, for 
many centuries, been a text-book in our schools ? 

CcBs, Indeed ! You surprise me. 

Tay. Even so ; and that same passage, wherein 
the construction of the aforesaid bridge is described, 
being a right down tough one, has caused a great 
many lazy boys a great many severe whippings* 
I've had a taste of the hickory, myself, more than 
once, on that score. 

Cces. Ah ! that's it, is it ? I am heartily sorry 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 231 

that I should have been the cause of any such suffer- 
ing on your part. General; or on that of our old 
friend, here. So much for being a Classic ! 

Tay. Oh, don't mention it, Caesar. I believe in 
thrashing, myself. Boys need it as much as grain ; 
depend upon it. 

C s. [Aside to Tay.\ But what a queer old 
customer this seems to be of ours ! 

Tay. An eccentric person, very. Speak out, 
landlord ; there is evidently something on the tip 
of your tongue, that you want to get rid of. 

W. the Elder. An absurd fancy, nothing more. 
This old noddle of mine is quite too full of them. 

Cms. Out with it, now ; out with it. 

W. the Elder. Oh, I was onlv thinkinoj what a 
tremendous army Caesar would now be commanding, 
this very day, could he get together all the indi- 
viduals that have been flo<?£red on his account. All 
Gaul would hardly hold them. And were he to add 
thereto, all the negroes, dogs, and horses, that have 
been christened after him^ he might prescribe terms 
to the Holy Alliance itself 

CcBS. Well, this is fame, with a vengeance ! But 
isn't our old friend here, quizzing, General ? 

Tay. Not at all. He speaks within bounds. I 
myself left at least a score of Caesars in my service, 
when I died. Yes, Julius, I have straddled Cagsars, 



232 SPIKITUAL VISITORS. 

hunted with Caesars, been shaved by Caesars. Both 
you and Pompey have been amazingly useful to me, 
all my life, in the v/ay of blacking my boots, driving 
my teams, getting in my sugar crops, etc., etc. But 
we are frivolous. To revert to Plutarch. I was 
right down sorry, my friend, to hear you speak of 
him in the way you did. He always struck me as 
being a most amiable old philosopher and moralist ; 
and I think that's his reputation amongst most read- 
ers. At any rate, he has made many a long day 
seem short to me, in camp and on the frontier, with 
those lively biographies of his. Common gratitude, 
therefore, will not allow me to say anything disre- 
spectful to his memory. 

Cces. My dear General, had I known that — 
Tay. Never mind, never mind. He certainly has 
not done you justice, however. 

W. the Elder. No, indeed ; the theme was alto- 
gether beyond his powers. Ah, your Highness, if 
we only had your autobiography, now ; that would 
have been a volume for the auctioneers to keep 
knocking down by the tens of thousands ! Isn^t 
there such a w^ork somewhere, hid away under one 
of those seven hills of yours ? If so, pray let us 
into the secret. I should make a fortune by it in 
less than no time. Are you sure you didn't write 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 233 

such a book, and stow it away in some place that 
has never been found out? 

Cces. Indeed, indeed, my old friend, 1 did not. I 
fully intended to have done so, however, had I lived. 
Confound those rascally assassins, they caused me a 
world of disappointments ! 

Tay. By the way, Coesar, have you seen much of 
Brutus, since that affair ? 

Cces. A good deal. 

Tay. And did he explain it all to your satisfac- 
tion ? 

Cces. Perfectly, perfectly. A glorious fellow, 
Zach ! No loftier spirit ever breathed on earth. As 
to the other conspirators, however, they were a mis- 
erable set of wretches. 

Tay. What, not Cassius ? 

CcBS. Well, I never had much faith in his integ- 
rity. A bitter creature. General, and a frightfully 
mercenary one ; and as for the rest, they were little 
better than mere money-murderers. 

Tay. While I think of it, Cassar, I should like 
to ask you a question or two, on points that some- 
what interest me. 

Cces. Name them, name them, my dear friend. 

Tay. Well, then, suppose you had lived out your 
days, and died quietly in your bed, how would things 
probably have gone ? How would your own career. 



234 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

and that of Rome, nay, of the world, have been 
affected by it? What were your plans and feelings, 
at the time that you were thus cruelly taken off 1 
I confess I should like to have some explanations on 
these points, if agreeable to you. 

CcBS. Your questions, General, are certainly some- 
what difficult and embarrassing ; especially when 
we reflect how deceitful all hearts, how doubtful all 
futures, have ever been on earth. I will endeavor 
to answer them, however, and honestly. That I had 
a foolish, guilty passion for the name and power of 
King, I may not pretend to deny. The evidence 
is overwhelming against me on that point. Yes, I 
should have left no stone unturned, to have secured 
the throne. Well, suppose the people had suc- 
cumbed, the conspirators been thwarted, and the 
coronation had duly taken place, how would King 
Julius I. have behaved himself? That's the ques- 
tion. Well, if I know myself at all, Zachary, I 
should have been guilty of no small acts of mean- 
ness or of treachery, Overbearing and imperious I 
should have been, undoubtedly; but as for staining 
my name with any oi: those deeds of beastly de- 
bauchery and diabolic cruelty, that have made for- 
ever infamous some of my descendants (I am sure, 
my dear friend, you will believe me), I was utterly 
incapable of them. That I should have undertaken 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 235 

to enlarge ray Parthian and German acquisitions, 
and have made more Gallic conquests, and invaded 
.Britain again, it is of course Unnecessary to add. 
Nor should I have neglected the gentler arts and 
employments of peace, nor the strengthening and em-r 
bellishing of the imperial city. I had already made 
arrangements, indeed, for the erection, on a grand 
scale, of several buildings, both useful and orna- 
mental ; such as a Grain Depot, and Merchants' 
Exchange, and Custom-House ; a new Library on 
the Esquiline, and a School for Architects, the de- 
sign of which I furnished myself, and had given to 
my friend. Servilius, the JBdile, the very day before my 
assassination. A superb theatre, too, hardly inferior 
in size and elegance to the Colosseum itself; and a Gre- 
cian Opera House ; but, above all, a magnificent Obser- 
vatory on the Coelian hill. That, my dear General, 
was quite a hobby of mine — the perfecting of our 
Roman Astronomy ; a subject, indeed, which I had 
spent a good deal of time and money on, while in 
Egypt. I had also planned the construction, on im- 
proved principles, of several new roads in various 
parts of the empire ; some modification, also, in our 
system of draining and sewerage, a branch of en- 
gineering, you know, for which we Romans Avere 
always famous. The great subject of Rivers and 
Harbors, too, occupied my thoughts a good deal, at 



Z6b SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

that time ; and the founding of a Military Hospital 
for my brave old legionaries. I had actually made 
arrangements for laying the corner-stone of this last 
structure, in person, and "with appropriate ceremo- 
nies, on the very morning of ray taking off. But I 
must not weary you, General, with all these details. 

Tat/. Not at all, not at all ; go on. I am quite 
interested, I assure you, 

C(BS. Well, I might add, that the subject of the 
Currency was one in which I was also deeply inter- 
ested. Some six months before my exodus from the 
flesh, 1 had drawn up and submitted to my friend, 
Dolabella, the plan of a grand National Bank, both 
of circulation and discount, with a capital of twenty- 
five millions of sestertia, and branches, of course, 
all over the empire. P. approved of it, I remember, 
with some slight modifications, and was, in fact, to 
have been its first President. Antony, too, liked" 
the idea, and would, no doubt, have been a leading 
Stockholder. There was another matter, too, Zach- 
ary, that I had quite at heart. 

Tai/. Ah, what was that 7 

Cces. The improvement arid enlargement of our 
Common School System. 

Tay. The deuce you had ! Why, Julius, your 
brain seems to have been perfectly crowded with 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 237 

grand and noble ideas. What a pity, what a pity 
that you had no opportunity to carry them out ! 

CcEs. Well, I was certain, General, after the above 
statements, that you would give me credit for some 
good intentions, at least. But there was another 
thought, still grander and nobler, my friend, that 
crossed my mind occasionally ; though, I confess, I 
doubt whether I should have ever had moral courage 
enough to have acted up to it ; if, indeed, it had been 
at all practicable. 

Tay. And what thought may that have been ? 
Cces. That of voluntarily resigning, after a few 
brief years of prosperous rule, the imperial crown 
and purple, and of recommending to the Senate and 
People, the reorganization of our glorious republic, 
on newer and better principles. Yes, Zachary ; a 
republic somewhat like your own, though, of course, 
far, far inferior to it, as a piece of legislative work- 
manship. 

Tay. What ! a federal government, based on rep- 
resentation, and with a written Constitution ? You 
amaze me. 

Cixs, Even so ; as I said before, however, I fear 
1 should hardly have had magnanimity enough to 
carry out the idea, when the time came. But sup- 
pose it had been so. my friend, and the people had 
accepted the proposition, and perhaps have chosen 



238 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

me for their first President — -wouldn't it have been 
glorious? How it would have read in history ! Ju- 
lius C<esar, first President of the United States of 
Italy ! After a term or two, perhaps, of peaceful 
and beneficent governmentj under the Constitution, 
to have retired and spent the evening of my days in 
quiet, and have died, at last, placidly in my bed, and 
with an approving conscience, as you did, my friend, 
and have been followed to the tomb by millions of 
loving, weeping countrymen ! Ah, dear, on how 
much pleasanter a footing should I have then stood 
with posterity ! How different, probably, w^ould 
have been the fate of dear Rome, too ; nay, as you 
said, of the whole w^orld itself? 

Tay. Would to heaven that it had been so de- 
creed ! But really, Julius, had you matured this 
same idea of yours, so far, as your remarks would 
seem to imply ? And, pray, how was the Executive 
Department of your government to have been organ- 
ized? Would you have had a corps of Constitu- 
tional advisers about you, or would you have been 
your own Cabinet? Between ourselves, my friend, 
that was altogether the most trying part of my 
whole public life, the selection of that same Cabinet. 
I would rather have fought twenty Buena Vistas 
over again, than to have had a second one to con- 
struct. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 239 

Cces. Ah, you were too honest for your own good. 
That was your trouble. If you had been more of a 
rogue, Zachary, I have no doubt you'd have been in 
the body this very hour. But to reply to your ques- 
tion ; I should have had a Cabinet, by all means ; 
nay, I had even gone so far as to pitch upon the 
persons who were to compose it. 

Tay. Ah, who were they, who were they ? 

CcBs. Well, Brutus, of course, would have been 
Secretary of State, Dolabella, of the Treasury, Sul- 
pitius Rufus, of the Interior. Antony, dissolute 
dog that he was, I'm afraid I should have had to have 
made Secretary of the Navy, while Calenus would 
have presided over the War Department. As for 
the Attorney General — but, holloa ! what's our old 
host so busy about ? 

Tay. Why, the old gentleman seems to be taking 
notes right smart. 

W. the Elder. To be sure I am. Do you sup- 
pose I am going to let such startling disclosures as 
these go unrecorded ? Ko, indeed — posterity must 
and shall be informed of all these things. But re- 
ally, Caesar, I must say that I have been a good deal 
startled, I might add bewildered by some of your 
statements. I had not the remotest idea that such 
things as Banks and Bank Notes, were known to 
you classical boys, any more than penny papers ; or 



240 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

that you were familiar with telescopes, or lorgnettes, 
or librettos. 

Cces. And yet, my aged friend, I am giving you 
the naked, unvarnished facts. 

Tay. But, come, Julius ; if we're going to see 
that Washington Exhibition, I was speaking to you 
about, it's high time we were oJBfc Daylight is going 
fast. 

C(BS. True, true ; I wouldn't miss it for worlds. 

Tay. And suppose we get our old friend here to 
act as cicerone? 

W. the Elder. I am quite unworthy of such an 
honor. You'll be delighted with the pictures, 
though, I'm sure. 

Tay. I am told that there are no less than a 
dozen heads of the Pater Patriae there, and all by 
artists of note. 

W, the Elder. Even so ; heads by Stuart, Pine, 
Wertmuller, Cerrachi, Houdon, Powers, and others ; 
to say nothing of Leutze's magnificent composition, 
the Crossing of the Rubicon. 

Tay. What, what, what ? 

W. the Elder. Pshaw ; I'm always making such 
blunders, — Delaware, I should have said. 

CeBS. I'm afraid, ray old boy, that was meant for 
a sly cut at me, if the truth were known. 

W. the Elder. Oh, how can you ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 241 

CcBs. No matter ; I deserve it. In fact, General, 
I almost shrink from being confronted with the great 
patriot. The contrast in our careers here below, 
was so painfully marked, that — 

Tay. Oh, don't be so squeamish. Besides, you'll 
find plenty of other attractions there. Will he n^t, 
landlord ? 

W. the Elder. Yes, indeed ; quite an assortment 
of fancy pieces, and some glorious landscapes — 
Gignoux^s Seasons among the rest ; and, above all, 
the ever-charming Course of Empire. 

CcBS. Indeed ! I was somewhat of a landscape 
painter myself, in my early days. 

Tay. What were you not^ Ctesar? Poet, wit, 
fine gentleman, orator, statesman, warrior ; and, 
moreover, unless Suetonius belies you, a terrible 
fellow among the girls. 

Cces. Well, I was somewhat of a pet among the 
petticoats, it must be confessed. 

Tay. A sad dog, I fear. Cassar, allow me to ask 
you one plain question. 

CcBs. Certainly. 

Tay. Suppose, now, after this same imaginary 
coronation of yours, that you have had so much to 
say about, that that wicked and bewitching syren, 
Cleopatra, had come over to your Court, would you 
have had the courage to turn your back on all her 



242 SPIEITUAL VISITOKS. 

fascinations ? Would you have been a faithful hus- 
band to your loving Queen, Calpurnia ? I fear not. 

Cccs. Well, well, General, those were wicked 
times ; there's no denying that. I was surrounded 
by pretty hard characters during most of my stay 
on earth. But, oh, what a comfort it is to know 
that all these things have changed, since ! 

Tay. Rather sarcastic, C^sar, that last remark. 
But come, let's be off. 1 shall insist, however, on 
our old host's accompanying us. 

W. the Elder. As you will, Commanders. 

CcBS. Bene, andiamo. [Exeunt.^ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 243 



TIMON.— SWIFT. 

Tim. laside-l Confound this old fool of a fellow, 
for disturbing me in this ^vay. [ To W. the El- 
der^^ Well, mortal, here I am, and be hanged to 
you ! What, in Pluto's name, do you want of me / 

W. the Elder, [somewhat agitated.] Really, I 
— I — feel — profoundly — 

Tim. Bah, bah ! None of your humbug. I ask 
again — what do you want, and why have you inva- 
ded my spiritual rights in this most unwarrantable 
manner ? A plague upon you ! 

W. the Elder. I beg ten thousand — 

Tim. Pshaw ! Curse your impudence ! 

W. the Elder. But, my dear friend — 

Tim. Friend, say you? How dare you name 
that word in my presence ? I have no friend ; no, 



244 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

not in the wide universe ; and you know it, you old 
coxcomb. 

W. the Elder. Come, come, Mr. Spectre ; I am 
not used to such language as this. A little more 
civility, if you please. I should think you were 
talking to Apemantus. 

Ti?ji. Apemantus be , and you with him ! 

[Here one Jiidj/, a pet terrier, entereth, and hark- 
eth vehemently.^ 

W. the Elder. Come away, Judy, come away. 
Hovr dare you — 

Tim. This is your yankee hospitality, is it ? Ah, 
if 1 had only served 7ny guests in that way ! Never 
mind, though, old fellow ; let her talk — let her talk. 

W. the Elder. You young hussy ! I am per- 
fectly ashamed of you. 

Judy. Bow — wow — wow — wow — wow ! [continu- 
eth her vocalization, till put out.] 

W. the Elder. You must excuse the slut, Timon ; 
she's not well to-day. 

Ti77i. Poh, poh ! what made you turn her out ? 
I prefer her music to yours, any time. 

W. the Elder. Well, you are, by all odds, the 
crabbedest ghost I ever encountered ! 

Tim. But what made you send for me 7 Come, 
come, explain yourself, without further delay. 

W. the Elder. Oh, only for a bit of spiritual 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 245 

chat; nothing more. Besides, I thought a little 
change might be agreeable to you. And then, bro- 
ther Swift's society is always remunerative, you 
know. 
• Ti'm. Swift, Swift; who's Swift? 

W. the Elder. What ! don't you know the ghost ? 

Tim. Not I, by Cerberus. 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! You 7mist have been 
having a pretty quiet time of it, since death, not to 
have heard of him. 

Tim. That may be. Meanwhile I know no 
wretch of that name. 

W. the Elder. Wretch, say you ? Marry, come 
up ! What ! the brilliant Dean of St. Patrick's, 
the wit, the moralist, the classic, the — 

Ti7n. He might be all that, old man, and yet be 
supremely wretched. But, I say again, I have not 
the pain of his acquaintance. 

W. the Elder. Fie, Timon, how perverse you 
are ! The pain of his acquaintance ? Is it possi- 
ble, then, that your nature is so completely soured 
as this, that you must twist the commonest expres- 
sions of civility into their opposites ? Do you 
really mean to say, then, that you still harbor, at 
the distance of more than twenty centuries, the 
same horrible feelings that you died with? Have 
you, indeed, turned your back forever and ever on 



246 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

all the sweet charities of the universe ? I can'tbe- 
lieve anything so shocking as that. 

Tim. And who the deuce are you, pray, to pre- 
sume to cross-question me in this style, and to pry 
thus into the mysteries of eternity ? You had far 
better be minding your own little earthly business^ 
let me tell you. The idea of a shallow mortal's pre- 
tending to comprehend spiritual experiences, or to 
measure their duration by the paltry time-pieces of 
earth ! Bah ! 

W. the Elder. Well, well, old rapper and tipper, 
you needn't be so infernally crusty about it. I 
meant no offence. 

Tim. Who cares whether you did or not? But 
where is this same waggish spectre, whom you con- 
sider such valuable company ! Is this the way he 
keeps his appointments ? 

W. the Elder. Well, he certainly ought to have 
whizzed in sight before this time. Holloa, by Jupi- 
ter, there he is now. [Eiiter tSioift.] Ah, my dear 
brother Jonathan, I am delighted to see you. I was 
afraid you were going to give us the slip. 

Sivift. Brother Jonathan ? What do you mean 
by that ? Do you take me for a yankee ? 

W. the Elder. Well, what do they call you in 
spirit-land ? Doctor, Dean, Lemuel, Yahoo, per- 
haps ; eh, old fellow, how is it 1 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 247 

tS'wift. You are mighty familiar on short acquaint- 
ance, I must say. But who, in the name of Hera- 
clitus, is that old sour-krout ? Of all the vineirar- 
visaged ghosts that ever set schoolboys scampering, 
he certainly bears the bell. "VYho is he — who is he? 

W. the Elder. Quite an historical character, let 
me tell you. 

Swift. I dare say ; but who, who ? 

W. the Elder. A famous giver of good dinners, 
in his day. But he overdid the thing, poor fellow, 
got cornered, had to sell out his Athenian Fancy 
Stocks, at a frightful sacrifice, hoisted the red flag ; 
in short. Doctor, the old story. 

fSivift. Yes ; but you haven't told me who he is, 
all this time. 

W. the Elder. And instead of facing it like a 
man, or turning Diddler, in self-defence, fell to curs- 
ing, made for the woods, peeled off his garments, 
and went about, for the balance of his stay on earth, 
in 7iatiiralibus, and blaspheming every man, or 
beast, that came within bow-shot of him. 

Swift. Come, come, what nonsense is this, and why 
do you tease me in this impertinent style? If you 
don't introduce me forthwith,* I'm off; that's all. 

W. the Elder. Why, Dean, Dean, how dull you 
are this morning. 



248 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Thn. [aside.\ What are those infernal old fools 
chattering about, I wonder ? 

W. the Elder. Not to know, after all these broad 
hints ! Whjj who should it be, but the great Timon, 
himself? 

Swift. What! Timon of Athens? You don't 
tell me so. 

W. the Elder. Even so ; the mighty monarch of 
misanthropes ; he, whose magnificent imprecations 
will live and glow, through all time, in the pages of 
the divine bard ; whose epitaph will be shuddered 
over, while a grave is left to dig on earth. 

Sivift. AY ell. you needn't be so grandiloquent 
about it. Come, come, introduce me. 

W. the Elder. Allow me, dear Timon, to make 
you acquainted with that most exemplary friend and 
pitcher of a ghost, Jonathan Swift, Ex-Dean of St. 
Patrick's, and author of the famous Drapier Let- 
ters, The Tale of a Tub, Gulliver's Travels, and 
other pious volumes ; composer, moreover, of some 
of the very finest, perpetrator of some of the very 
filthiest verses in our language ; — 
Sioift. What's that— what's 'that ? 

W. the Elder. He who humbugged Vanessa, who 
mal-treated Stella, who— 

Sivift. Lies, Timon — most infamous lies. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 249 

W. the Elder. In short, a tip-top good fellow, 
and a ghost after your own heart. 

Sivifi. Out upon you, for such an absurd presen- 
tation as this ! I say, old fellow, I'm right glad to 
see you. How are you — how have you been ? 

IHin. You be hanged ! 

W. the Elder. Timon, Timon ; dcf be civil. 

Tim. I shall do no such thing. I don't, like his 
looks, i never saw a worse eye in a head in all 
my spiritualdays. 

- W. the Elder. But he's my guest, remember. 
Come, come, now, Timon ; do forget yoursolf, for 
once, and be decent ; that's a good ghost. 

Tim. Well, well, as you will. What have I got 
pleasant to say, though ? I'm no company for any 
body ; no, and never shall be again, I fear, through 
all eternity. 

W. the Elder. Why, what a sigh was there ! 
Cheer up, cheer up, old boy. Come, brother Swift, 
can't you manage to make yourself agreeable to our 
old Athenian friend, here ? Suppose you preach us 
a sermon, now, by way of a change. You used to 
be a good deal of a wag, you know, in your time, 
both in and out of the pulpit. 

tSivift. Why, you profane old wretch ! / joke in 
the pulpit ? I never did such a thing in all my 
life. 



250 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. You never did anything else. 
Oh, you needn't stare so, ghost ; I have your own 
biographer's word for it, on the shelf, yonder. 

Siuift. What, Mat ? Hang the fellow : — he was 
terribly given to fibbing. 

W. the Elder. Sir Walter throws out the same 
idea, too. 

Swift. Well, perhaps I was somewhat flippant 
and frivolous, at times ; but I hadn't so bad a heart, 
after all, as some of my traducers have ascribed to 
me. But that's neither here nor there. Come, bro- 
ther Athenian, and King of good haters, do brighten 
up. You actually look as if you had been dining on 
unripe persimmons, for the last fifty centuries, and 
washing them down with red ink. Surely you must 
have a bit of spiritual news to tell a ghost. 

Tim. Not a thing — not a thing. 

Sivift. Why, where have you been all this while ? 
Why haven't 'we stumbled over each other before? 

Tim. Pluto knows. 

Swift. But what luminary do you hail from, any- 
how ? 

Tim. Fogie. 

Swift, Fogie, fogie ? What constellation, pray ? 

Tim. Hardscrabble. 

Swift. Fogie, Hardscrabble? Are you sure, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 251 

Timon, you've got the right names ? I never heard 
of any such part of the universe before. 

Tim. What sis-nifies it ? You needn't trouble 
yourself to inquire or to call. T shall certainly be 
out, if you do. 

SiDift. What an incorrigible old crab you are, to 
be sure ! There's no getting anything out of him, 
landlord. 

W. the Elder. So I see. [aside^ Catch me ask- 
ing such a ghost to tea again, in a hurry ! But, 
•what route did you take, Timon, in thus honoring 
my invitation ? At "what point did you cross the 
ecliptic, if it is a fair question ? 

TiTii. Bah, how should I know ? All I remem- 
ber, is that when your infernal planet hove in sight, 
I naturally made for Athens, of course, and from 
there, blundered along, as best I could, to this dust- 
hole of a town of yours. 

W. the Elder. But why didn't you come direct 
to Gotham? 

2'i7n. Gotham ? What the deuce did I know 
about Gotham ? Wasn't all America, terra incog- 
nita, when I had the dyspepsia on earth ? 

W. the Elder. True, true. Well, you found 
some charming improvements, in and about Athens, 
did you not, and a corresponding rise of prices, since 
your last visit ? How were all your old creditors ? 



252 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

You stopped at the Themistocles House, I suppose ; 
or. at the Revere, may be? 

Tim. You're sarcastic, old gentleman. 

W. the Elder. Well, then, in plain English, you 
were delighted, were you not, Timon, to see the filth, 
misery, degradation, ruin of the city, that you died 
cursing? It did your bitter old soul good, didn't it, 
to behold such a complete realization of all your 
maledictions ? 

Tim. It certainly was gratifying ; though not so 
much so as I expected. 

W. the Elder, [aside.^^ "What an old savage ! 

fSivift. But is Athens really in such a shocking 
condition ? 

Tim. It is so ; a thorough wreck, alike in trade, 
architecture, and morals ; the old town, indeed, 
where I used to keep house, as dead as a door-nail, 
and its modern namesake is a very dog-hole, presid- 
ed over by a pig-headed Bavarian, plundered (under 
the name of protection), by a set of beer-swilling 
Austrian mercenaries, and inhabited by the veriest 
loafers and chicken-thieves. 

Sivift. What ! no art there, whatever, or science, 
or literature, or prospect of any ? 

Tim. Bah ! But hang Athens ! Why the devil 
did you introduce the subject, landlord ? 

W. the Elder. Well, well, let's change it. But, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 253 

brother Jonathan, where are you from last, your- 
self? 

Svnft. Oh, I've been knocking about America 
here, for the last three months. 

W. the Elder, Indeed, you must have frequented 
many of our best rapping and tipping circles, then. 

tSiaift. Yes, all over the Union. 

W. the Elder. Well, Dean, how do you like us 
Yankees, on the whole ? 

Swift. To be candid with you, not overmuch. 
The old country for me, ghost or mortal. 

W. the Elder. But, surely, you see something 
agreeable and commendable in our manners and 
institutions ; some bona fide improvements, do you 
not? 

Swift. Precious few, old fellow. 

W. the Elder. What, not in our unterrified de- 
mocracy — our universal suffrage — our voluntary 
system — our — 

Swift. Oh, you needn't run over the list ; I con- 
sider them, one and all, mere high sounding hum- 
bugs, that will never stand the test of time, or of a 
crowded population. Bubbles, bubbles, just as sure 
to burst and to give way to the old regime again, 
both in government and religion, as they uniformly 
have, in all past ages. 

W. the Elder. Why, you hardened old Tory, you ! 



254 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

But, politics and theology apart, you certainly like 
our climate, doctor, don't you — and the scenery, and 
the women, and the oysters ? 

fSivift. Out upon your climate ! No language 
can express its caprices. As to your scenery, I 
have been most fearfully disappointed in it. There 
are some pretty girls scattered about, I confess ; 
and here and there a healthy, well-developed oyster. 

W. the Elder. You do condescend, then, to ad- 
mire our shell-fish, do you ? [Aside.^ The old 
crab. 

Swift. Yes, your oysters are as good as your 
manners are bad. 

W. the Elder. What? 

Sioift. I repeat it. Wherever I have been, I have 
found a very low style of manners, alike in the so- 
cial circle, the sanctuary, the parliament, and the 
halls of justice. Nine-tenths of your young men, 
that I have seen, have been swaggering and dissi- 
pated ; and of your young women, hoydenish and 
extravagant ; while the old people have, almost inva- 
riably, been thrust aside, like so much cracked 
crockery, or broken down furniture. There is a ter- 
rible lack of reverence among you ; ay, and of truly 
reverend objects. Nobody seems to look up to any- 
body, or anything. Dollars and cents — dollars and 



SPIKITUAL VISITORS. 255 

cents ; they are, at once, your peerage, your art, 
your science, your religion. 

W, the Elder. You atrocious old libeller, what do 
you mean ? You'll be saying next that Niagara is 
a humbug. 

tSivift. I don't see much in it ; — a good enough 
cascade for unwashed democrats ; but the scenery 
about it is terribly flat and insipid. 

W. the Elder. What the deuce would you have 
there ? Mont Blanc ? How absurdly you talk, doc- 
tor ! As if mountain scenery wouldn't only injure 
the effect ! What other arrangement could half so 
well set off the beauty and majesty of the cataract ? 
Ah, you're evidently bilious, Dean, and out of hu- 
mor ; or perhaps you haven't been received with 
that eclat, that you think was due to your genius. 

Swift. Oh, no, no ; I have been pretty well re- 
ceived upon the whole. 

W. the Elder. Something sticks in your crop, 
I'm sure. Somebody has been giving you a rap 
over the knuckles. Is it not so ? 

Swift. Not at all, not at all. To be sure, I heard 
some pretty plain talk about myself, a few evenings 
since. 

W. the Elder. Ah ! 

Swift. Yes, I was abused in good round terms, 
for a full hour and a half. 



256 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

W. the Elder. Indeed ! 

Swift. And, what's more, I had to pay a crown 
at the door, for the privilege of hearing it all. Think 
of that. Master Brook. 

W. the Elder. Why, is it possible that any yan- 
kee could be so — 

Sivift. Ah, that's the worst of it. It was no 
yankee, but a countryman of ray own, confound him ; 
let's see — what the deuce was his name 1 Whack — 
Whack — Whack-away ; an individual who has been 
going about, lecturing in these parts, of late. You 
must know all about him, surely. 

W. the Elder. Whack-away T Poh, poh ; you 
mean Thackeray. He does whack away, sure 
enough, and in magnificent style, too, at the follies 
and vices of his brethren. Thackeray, Thackeray ; 
a large ruddy man, with a white head, and specta- 
cles, standing some seven feet six, in his stockings ? 
No! 

Swift. The very fellow, and be hanged to him ! 

W. the Elder. A capital lecture, that, Doctor. 

Sioift. You heard the libel, did you ? 

W. the Elder. To be sure I did, and wouldn't 
have missed it for a good deal. Rather hard on 
you, old boy, though, I must say ; and as it struck 
me, most unreasonably, savagely so. 

Swift, Curse his impudence ! Why, he wouldn't 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 257 

allow me a solitary virtue ; no, not even that of 
filial piety ; -whereas, Heaven knows, if I was no- 
thing else, I was, at least, a good son. 

W. the Elder. You were so, Doctor ; and more 
than that, — you gave away a large part of your in- 
come in charity every year, if I remember rightly. 

Swift. Indeed I did. 

W. the Elder. Oh, well ; perhaps the lecturer, 
if the truth were known, had a little lurking jeal- 
ousy of your superior reputation and vigor, as a 
satirist. He certainly spoke most handsomely, 
though, of some of your contemporaries, Doctor : 
and, above all, of Fielding. A most delicious tri- 
bute, that. I could have hugged him for it. 

Sivift. What, Harry Fielding? A broth of a 
boy, wasn't he ? 

W. the Elder. One of the most glorious geniuses 
God ever sent to bless the earth. 

Sivift. And yet, do you know, that when I ven- 
tured to introduce his name at a recent spiritual man- 
ifestation, nearly every mortal present protested 
against him, as altogether too gross a writer for this 
pure and enlightened age. 

W. the Elder. "What a set of pharisaical cox- 
combs ! 

Swift. I thought so, and away I flew, instanter. 
But we are rather neglecting our Athenian friend, 



258 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

here. Heavens, how glum he looks ! He's in the 
brownest kind of a brown stuclj^, evidently. 

W. the Elder. Yes, indeed. Oh, how I should 
love to secure a daguerreotype, now. 

Swift. Holloa ! my merry Greek, — what are you 
brooding over ? An obolus for your thoughts. 

Tim. Bah, bah, bah ! 

Sioift. What's the matter ? Do you see a group 
of ghostly creditors in the distance ? What is it 
that annoys you thus ? 

Tim. Oh, let me go — let me go. 

W. the Elder. Whither awaj^, old friend 1 

Tbf Back to my den. Don't keep me here, in 
torment. Out upon it, that we spirits should be 
compelled to dance attendance thus, on a set of pal- 
try earth-worms ! 

Swift. Come, come, Timon ; now we are here, 
let's make a day of it. Millions of olympiads may 
elapse, before another such pleasant little party gets 
together again. 

Tivi. I hope it may, with all my heart. 

Swift. Oh, don't be so infernall}^ acid. What en- 
tertainments have you to offer, old host? What is 
there at the theatre to-night? 

W. the Elder. Let's see. Ah, here's a pleasant 
little piece ; it would suit Timon to a T, I should 
say. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 259 

Su'ift. What do they call it? 

W. the Elder. The Six Degrees of Crime. By 

the way, old ghost, how many degrees must a fellow 
go through, before he comes out an A No. 1 Devil ? 
You ought to know, by this time. 

Tiin. Only keep on in the road you are now trav- 
eling, and you'll be pretty sure to find out. 

Sioift. You had better let him alone, landlord. 
But what's this ? Pauline^ Pauline ; that cer- 
tainly has a far more cheerful sound than the 
other. 

W. the Elder. Cheerful, say you ? A perfect 
ragout of horrors ; some exquisite acting in it, 
though. 

/Swift. What do they do in it 7 

W. the Elder. What don't they do ? chop each 
other up, shoot each other down, poison, bury alive, 
and all the other little delicacies of the season ; and 
all in such a comme il faiit, quiet, lady-like way. 
The hero of the piece is the most infernal, and at 
the same time, well dressed, gentlemanly scoundrel, 
I ever saw on the boards. 

Tim. Let's go. I think I could relish an enter- 
tainment of that sort, amazingly. 

W. the Elder. Well, it's pleasant to see you 
brightening up at last. By the way — it's too late, 
though, to-day 



260 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Tim. How? 

TF. the Elder. I did think, for a moment, of ask- 
ing you for a sun-painted copy of those features of 
yours. They would look so nicely alongside of that 
Flora, yonder. 

Tim. Get out, you infernal old — 

Siuift. Come, come, friends ; do be decent. Let's 
be off. I'm tired of sitting. 

W. the Elder. Whenever you say, Gulliver. 
Come, Timon ," why can't you be sociable, just for 
this once? 

Tim. Well, well ; I suppose I must humor you. 

[Exeunt.^ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 261 



JOHN SMITH— SYDNEY SMITH. 

W. the Elder. Capt. Smith, how are you, how 
have you been ? This is an honor of the very first 
water, I assure you. Indeed, I don't know a ghost 
in all history, or in all space, whose presence here 
could give me greater pleasure. Come, sit down, 
old fellow, and tell us all about yourself and tra- 
vels. 

John S. Do give a spectre time to breathe, man. 

W. the Elder. I beg your pardon, Captain. 
Don't hurry yourself I took it for granted, how- 
ever, that an old and hardened traveler like you, 
didn't mind a journey of this kind, occasionally. But 
perhaps a wee drop of Schiedam might — 

John S. Nothing for me, I'm obliged to you. 

W. the Elder. Well, where are you from last, 



262 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

and how are they all there ? You left Pocahontas 
well, I trust, and the youngsters. A ghost of your 
enterprise, John, and roving propensities, must of 
course have a good deal to say for himself. Come, 
now, give us a little of your spiritual experience ; 
that's a dear spectre. 

John S. Well, you are a free and easy old fellow, 
1 must say ; but what in the name of aged Nicholas 
do you want any of my yarns for ? Why am I here 
at all, anyhow ? What is the reason of the present 
invocation? Holloa, what old folio is this? And 
these manuscripts, too ? You are surely not roman- 
tic enough, old gentleman, to be bringing out a new 
edition of my History of Virginia 7 Eh, how 
is it? 

W. the Elder. Oh, no ; I can't afford any such 
luxury as that, I assure you. 

John fS. Well, may be you are writing my life, 
and want more copious and authentic information, 
than your lyi^g predecessors had, or cared to have ? 
Ah, that's it, evidently. You look guilty. Well, 
well, there's nothing like going to headquarters, cer- 
tainly. Here I am ; pump away. To be sure, it is 
rather absurd for a ghost, to be giving his biogra- 
pher the particulars of his earthly career, two cen- 
turies after it's all over. Never mind that, though ; 
go ahead. While I'm here, too, hadn't you better 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 263 

secure my likeness, and so have the genuine article, 
to face the title page ? 

W. the Elder. Why, Captain, how you talk ! I 
assure you, upon my honor, I am not engaged upon 
any biography of yourself I would not presume to 
handle a subject so entirely beyond my powers. 
And then again, between ourselves, I can't help 
doubting whether such a performance, however well 
done, would begin to pay expenses. 

John S. I suppose not. I'm altogether too much 
of a fogie, and fighting character, to go down, in 
these days. Is it not so 7 

W. the Elder. No, that's not it ; but somehow or 
other, there don't seem to be a rage, just now, for 
the lives of great benefactors. Washington him- 
self, rather drags in the market, I'm told. 

John S. The deuce he does ! 

W. the Elder. Jack Shepjyard, Tom Crib, The 
Wandering Jeiv, they are the boys to make the 
money for the publishers ! John Marshall, on the 
other hand, is the veriest lumber ; he positively 
hasn't reached his third ticentieth yet, though his 
memoirs have been out almost as many years ; while 
Monte Cristo is already on his Jive hundredth thou- 
sandth. So, at least, I have been informed. Ah, 
no, Captain, it was for no such selfish purpose that 
I presumed to ask the honor of your company here ; 



264 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

hut simply because of my most profound and hearty 
admiration of your character, and of a natural wish 
to profit by any little spiritual small-talk, that you 
might feel disposed to indulge me with. That, and 
knowing, besides, how wonderfully the facilities for 
ghostly travel have been multiplied, of late, all over 
the universe, emboldened me to — But I fear I have 
taken too great a liberty. 

John S. Not at all, not at all. 

W. the Elder'. How fortunate, that my dispatch 
should have found you at home, and unoccupied ; a 
ghost of your restless nature, too ! But come now, 
my dear friend, open your budget. What's the best 
news from spirit-land 1 Where have you been roam- 
ing lately ? What new worlds have you been ex- 
ploring, what continents have you been christening, 
rivers tracing to their fountains? What ruffians, 
robbers, pirates, have you been exterminating 7 
What stronghold have you been capturing ? What 
lovely creatures have you been rescuing from cap- 
tivity, or been rescued by ? Come, let's have all 
the delicious particulars. 

John S. Well, well, well, I should think I was a 
witness upon the stand, from the way you pour in 
the interrogatories. Gently, gently, if you please. 
Besides, old gentleman, I don't feel at liberty to an- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 265 

swer questions of this sort. Confine yourself to 
terrestrial topics, if you please. 

W. the Elder. You needn't be so squeamish about 
it. Captain. Several of your spiritual brethren, let 
me tell you, who have done me the favor of a call 
lately, have discovered no such unwillingness to 
speak on these subjects, but, on the contrary, have 
made some very interesting disclosures. 

John S. I am sorry to hear it. I must say that 
I consider all such statements both improper and 
injudicious. Still, I don't want to be unreasonable, 
or unsociable. 

Sydney S. [tvithont.] Holloa, there ! where are 
you 7 How are Pennsylvania Securities? 

John S. Why, who the deuce may this be? 

W. the Elder. A namesake of yours, and a tip- 
top fellow, I tell you. 

Sydney S. [without.'] Do you pay your interest 
yet? 

W. the Elder. To be sure we do. Come in, 
come in. 

Sydney >S*. [without.] Are you quite certain that 
there is no repudiation left among you ? 

W. the Elder. Concern your picture, no. We 
pay up, like men. 

Sydney S. [without.] Enough said. [He enters.] 

W. the Elder. Well, I'm embarrassed, I confess. 



266 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

I was on the point of saluting you, in my prettiest 
and heartiest manner ; hut confound it, old boy, this 
arrogant dictation of yours, as to the terms on which 
you accept my invitation, I don't altogether like, I 
must say. You are a ghost of business, with a ven- 
geance ! 

Sydney S. Pshaw, man, I was only quizzing. 
Don't be so touchy. 

W. the Elder. Oh, well, that alters the case. 
Putting your remarks, though, in connection with 
that saucy letter you wrote us yankees, on the sub- 
ject, just before leaving the body, I was misled 
somewhat, I confess. 

Sydney S. But you ought to know fun from ear- 
nest, by this time. You look venerable enough, cer- 
tainly. 

W. the Elder. And yon ought to know that that 
is one of the most difficult of all branches of earthly 
knowledge. But it seems to me that, for a ghost, 
you are mightily interested in our State Stocks. 
However, there's the money article of yesterday. 
Look for yourself 

Sydney S. Oh, hang the money article ? Is it so 
strange, though, that I should be interested in Penn- 
sylvania Fives ? Haven't I dear representatives 
left behind me, in old England, who are large hold- 
ers of them, and of Ohio 6's likewise ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 267 

W. the Elder. Have you, indeed ? Lucky dogs 
they are ; that's all I can say. I wish / had a plum 
or so laid out in that safe and pleasant way. And 
they always laere good stocks, too, let me tell you, 
Mr. Reviewer; and you made a most unjustifiable 
and absurd onslaught — 

SyrJiie}/ S. Come, come, old fellow, don't undertake 
to apologise for repudiation. 

TV. the Elder. 1 don't ; but recollect that there 
are two sides to that story, if you please. Recol- 
lect that you English capitalists would persist in 
thrusting yonr surplus funds upon us, willy nilly ; 
that you did all you could to keep alive that specu- 
lative spirit, that you afterwards cursed us for, so 
savagely. Yes, I think you were about as much to 
blame in that business, as we were, if the truth 
were known. 

Sydney S. Pshaw, don't talk in that unprincipled 
style. Speculation's one thing, swindling another. 

W. the Elder. Swindlins; ? 

John S. Boys, boys, don't get excited now, talk- 
ing finance or politics. Do change the subject, I 
beg of you. Why, Sydney, don't you know me ? 

Sydney S. Wh}^, God bless me, Jack, is that you ? 

My dear fellow, how are you ? [ They hug most 

fraternally.] But what, in the name of wonder, 



268 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

are you making a spiritual manifestation here, for 7 
By the way, Smith, what ever became of Jones 7 

John tS. Jones ? ^Yhat Jones ? 

Sydney tS. Why, don't you remember, you were 
talking very earnestly with Paul Jones, the last 
time I saAv you? He appeared to be in great 
trouble, you know, about that bucca — 

Joh7i JS. Hush, hush, hush. We mustn't speak 
of these things before human beings. 

Sydney S. True, true, I forgot. 

W. the Elder. Messrs. Smith, you seem to be 
old cronies. 

Sydney S. To be sure, we are. Thank the stars 
for it, too ! I consider the acquaintance of John 
Smith, yes, the John Smith of the billions and bil- 
lions of the universe, one of the most unqualified 
treats, that — 

John S. Come, Sydney, none of your palaver, 
now. 

Sydney S. But, Jack, you haven't told me what 
business brings you to Yankee land. 

John S. No business ; I am merely accepting the 
polite invitation of our old host here. Not being 
particularly engaged at the time, and having, more- 
over, received a similar kind message, just before, 
to come and see some descendants, at Monticello, I 
thought I couldn't do better than to respond in per- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 269 

son, and in a word, here I am, en route for the Old 
Dominion. 

W. the Elder. What, are you actually going to 
old Yirginny, Captain ? 

John S. I am, indeed. 

W. the Elder. You will be warmly welcomed 
there. 

John S. I expect they'll make a good deal of fuss 
with me. But come, Sydney, suppose you go along. 

Sydney S. No, I believe not. Besides, I don't 
altogether like the idea of going amongst slave- 
hoklers. 

Johii S. Why, you old Pharisee ! How dare you 
put on any such airs as those ? Slave-holders, in- 
deed ! 

W. the Elder. We'll drop the slavery question, 
if you please, ghosts. 

Sydney S. What, do you mean to stop my mouth, 
old fellow 7 No, indeed. I'm in the habit of speak- 
ing my mind, pretty freely, wherever I go, let me 
tell you. 

John S. Come, come, namesake, you're wrong, 
quite wrong, in this affair. It certainly was not 
courteous in you, under the circumstances, to intro- 
duce a topic that you know is a very painful and 
exciting one. 

Sydney S. Well, well, I ask pardon. 



270 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

John S. But what brings i/oii to America, old 
Edinburgh ? 

Sydney S. Well, I came here expressly, and by 
invitation, to spend a week with this yankee medi- 
um ; but if he's going to flare up so, at every little 
word I say, I think I had better be returning forth- 
with. 

W. the Elder. Oh, no, no. no ; we'll get along 
well enough, I reckon, after we've found each other 
out. Besides, if we do flare up somewhat, and break 
a dozen or two of crockery, occasionally, I shan't 
mind it. Anything but your sulky people ! Yes, 
Captain, I did invite the great reviewer here, ex- 
pressly to let him see some of our yankee improve- 
ments, and what giant strides we have been making, 
in all the honorable walks of life, since he used to 
write those biting, merciless criticisms about us, 
some thirty years ago. 

Sydney S. Well, I don't think I was so very mer- 
ciless. I gave you credit for many good points. 

W. the Elder. Not merciless ? And do you pre- 
tcad to have forgotten that outrageously impertinent 
string of queries, that you tacked at the end of that 
grossly inaccurate article of yours, in the year 
1820? 

Sydney S. Inaccurate, say you ? Gospel truth, 
every word of it, when I wrote it ; and, by George, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 271 

I doubt whether you can answer many of those very 
questions, now^ at all satisfactory. Yes, I repeat 
it. Where are your Foxes, your Burkes, your 
Sheridans, your Wilberforces ? Where your Ark- 
wrights, your Watts', your Davys ? Where your 
Stewarts, Paleys, and Malthuses 1 Your Parrs and 
Persons ? Your Scotts. Campbells, and Byrons ? 
Your Siddons', Keans, and Kembles, eh ? There 
may possibly be a half dozen yankee books, worth 
looking into, but who does ever go to see your pic- 
tures ? Who ever thinks of consulting your doc- 
tors, or chemists, or of going to your telescopes for 
new stars ? Who does drink out of your glasses, or 
eat from your plates, or wear your garments, or sleep 
in your blankets ? Answer me that. 

W, the Elder. Why, confound your mendacious 
and bigoted old soul ! I ask, in return, where are 
not our Clays, and Calhouns, and Websters known 
and honored ? Our Channings, our Everetts, our 
Choates, our Careys, our Fultons, and Morses? 
Who has not heard of our Bowditches, our Barnes's, 
and our Anthons ? To whom is the fame of our 
divine Allston a stranger, or our glorious Cole ? 
What palace might not be proud to receive the his- 
torical pictures of our Weir, or our Leutze, or the 
landscapes of our Durand, our Church, our Gignoux, 
or the Scripture-pieces of our Huntington ? Who 



272 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

knows not the wonderful works of our Powers, our 
Crawford, our Greenough ? Who has not read the 
magnificent verse of our Bryant, the sparkling lays 
of our Halleck, the exquisite creations of our Drake ? 
Half a dozen yankee books, say you? What mon- 
strous arrogance ! Is Irving nothing, then, and 
Paulding, and the world- searching Cooper, and Pres- 
cott, and Bancroft, and Dewey, and Ware, and Dana, 
and Emerson, and Hawthorne, and Longfellow, and 
Holmes, and a whole Directory full of choice spirits 
besides ? To sneer at our doctors and surgeons, 
too ! Why, who can begin to saw off a leg with us 
yankees? Who first applied Ether to surgery? 
Who made dentistry a science? Who brought to 
light the virtues of India Rubber ? In astronomy, 
too ; let the Observatory of Old Harvard speak ; 
let Mitchell answer your impertinent questions. 
Ghost that you are, I doubt whether you know much 
more than he does, this very minute, of what's going 
on in the skies. But you do know, old fellow, though 
it galls your John Bull pride too much, to acknow- 
ledge it, that we are fast taking the shine out of 
you English, in all sorts of manufactures, and that 
millions are already drinking out of yankee glasses, 
and eating from yankee plates, and snoring in yan- 
kee blankets. The idea of your ridiculing our coats, 
is too absurd ! Why, don't your cockney tailors 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 273 

have to come to America, for the very shears they 
ply, and is there a man-maker of them all, can turn 
out a garment, to be named in the same age or sys- 
tem, v/ith those of our Philadelphia artists ! Is — 

Sydney S. Oh, don't stop to take breath. Dash 
on; keep moving. 

W. the Elder. But ain't I right ? Are Tve not 
going ahead of you, in all arts, fine and useful? 
Can you, to-day, show clippers with us, or steamers, 
or clocks, or cheese, or hams, or pippinS; or confec- 
tionery ? Have you any such oratory to produce, 
either in the pulpit, or in the senate, or on the 
stump ? No, any more than you have any such riv- 
ers, or prairies, or banking privileges. 

Sydney S. One article, I confess, you do beat us 
in all hollow. 

TK the Elder, Do we, indeed ? And what may 
that be ? 

Sydney S. Self-glorification. But, my old friend, 
why so sensitive ? Why take me up so fiercely ? I 
was only half in earnest, I assure you. I do not 
pretend to deny the progress of your nation in all 
these fine things, or to ignore the existence of all 
these bright boys, that you have just named ; wits, 
artists, poets, essayists. I knew some of them in 
the flesh. I've had my old terrestrial legs, more 
than once. I can tell you, under the same mahogany 



274 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

"vvith Irving, and Prescott, and other of your choice 
spirits. Grlorious fellows they are. I've no doubt, 
either, that you loill^ in time, beat old Alma Mater, 
in pretty much every department of thought and 
action, anymore than I doubt that she is, herself, 
far more civilized and christianized, to-day, than she 
"vvas "vvhen old Father John, here, first went out to 
Virginia, on colonial business. But meanwhile, old 
gentleman, I must and will say, that there are a 
great many things in this broad land of yours, that 
I don't like at all ; yes, follies, vices, crimes, that 
call for all the lashing of the satirist, all the thun- 
ders of the pulpit. Don't be alarmed, now. I'm 
not going to preach a sermon on slavery. I consider 
my mouth stopped on that subject, while I am under 
your roof. Nor do I mean to favor you with a phi- 
lippic on tobacco-juice ; especially after the exhaust- 
ing way in which brother-spectre Hamilton treated 
that topic, when in the flesh. 

John S. Well, what is your text ? Come, Syd- 
ney, hurry up your discourse, for I must be off pre- 
sently. 

Sydney S. I'm not going to preach, I tell you. 
I'm here as a guest, not as a parson. None the less, 
however, are there materials for at least half a dozen 
barrels of — 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 275 

W. the Elder. Oh, hang tliis vague and general 
abuse ; the items, the items, if you please. 

Sydney S. Items, say you? Can I turn my 
ghostly head, without seeing them ? And, as you 
insist upon it, I will glance at them for a moment. 
Imprimis, then ; you are always in such an infernal 
hurry, all of you, and about everything, that there's 
no comfort, either for ghost or mortal, among you. 
You don't stop to do anything right ; either to eat, 
or drink, or cook, or build, or plant, or paint, or 
write, or legislate, like christians. You can't wait, 
either to season your timber, or to test your iron ; 
no, nor even to put steeples on your churches. You 
are always rushing after results, before their time ; 
always anticipating your debts, and your crops, and 
disposing of your fruits, before they have fairly 
shown their blossoms; hurrying, hurrying to get 
rich, sacrificing thereto, all the proprieties and cour- 
tesies of life. If you knock a fellow down, or run 
over him, as you do continually, you've no time 
to apologise, much less to pick him up. In doors, 
or out of doors, it makes no difference ; everywhere 
the same mad race with time. As to ever sitting 
out concert, play, or sermon, to the end, and then re- 
tiring in tranquil dignity, you never think of such a 
thing, but rush for the door, males and females alike, 
with a velocity, and want of decency truly porcine. 



276 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Nothing less than a mile a minute ever satisfies you, 
no matter how sublime or beautiful the scenery you 
may be traveling amongst ; no — 

W, the Elder. Hold on, hold on ; you are rat- 
tling away yourself, here, like a perfect loco- 
motive. What's the use now, old fellow, of serving 
up all this Trollope and Fiddler abuse, over again ? 
You know, that — however, go ahead. 

Sydney S. Item ; you are so absurdly thin- 
skinned and sensitive ; so afraid of the criticisms of 
those very cockneys that you affect to despise ; so 
greedy of applause ; so unwilling to admit your in- 
feriority in those arts, and studies, and amenities, 
that are inherent in courts, and cannot, in the na- 
ture of things, co-exist with democracy ; so enamor- 
ed of those very pomps and vanities that you have 
openly renounced ; so meanly deferential to titled 
foplings, while you turn your backs upon the true 
sons of genius ; so — 

W. the Elder. Well, well, that is a strange 
charge, that last, for an English ghost to prefer j 
go on, though. 

Sydney S. Item ; so bellicose and aggressive, 
withal ; so ready to thrust your institutions upon 
your neighbors, and, at the same time, so jealous of 
any fancied encroachment, on their part ; so furious, 
too, at any imagined insult to your flag, or tardy 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 277 

recognition of your rights, or position among nations ; 
so bent on having exclusive control over all the seas 
and islands around you, without regard either to 
equity or courtesy ; — 

W. the Elder. Ay, and we mean to keep out you 
interlopers' to the end of the chapter. 

Sydney S. Item ; and the last and saddest of all 
that I shall allude to ; you are so frightfully reck- 
less, in all your transactions ; so indifferent to the 
value of human life ; so criminally negligent in see- 
ing your laws enforced, while you are eternally mak- 
ing new and impracticable ones. You may boast of 
your freedom, indeed, but are you not virtually at 
the mercy of a set of ruffians, who murder you by 
scores, every week almost, on all the rivers and rail- 
roads of your land ? Is it not horrible, to think of 
the impunity, with which these wretches ply their 
murderous trade, in your midst ; escaping almost in- 
variably, with a mere nominal investigation into 
their enormities ? To think, too, of the ease with 
which any unpalatable statute may be evaded by the 
rich transgressor : of the terrible power everywhere 
wielded, the abject homage everywhere paid to 
Mammon among you ? 

TK the Elder. Too true, too true ; we are indeed 
most vulnerable, most culpable in this regard. Your 
criticism, my friend, is just, perfectly just, and I 



278 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

honor you for the bold and hearty way in which you 
have made it. And so with the other items ; there 
is quite too much foundation in truth for your alle- 
gations. 

Sydney S. Still, my old friend, as I said before, 
I am not at all disposed to overlook the bright side 
of— 

W. the Elder. I know that, I know that ; and I 
like you all the better, my big-hearted and big-fisted 
brother, for your frankness. I always did like you, 
and look up to you, as a tip-top critic, and right royal 
reviewer : an invincible foe to cant and gammon of 
all sorts, and a true friend to your oppressed and 
down-trodden brethren. 

Syd?iey S. Heartily said, and I hope truly so. 1 
certainly did try to do some good, and to open some 
eyes, in my little day and generation. 

John tS. Well, brethren, I'm sorry to tear myself 
away from such pleasant company, but I must posi- 
tively be off. 

W. the Elder, Why, Captain, you don't call 
this a visit? 

Joh7i S. Oh, no ; but I thought I would look in 
upon my Virginia friends first, and then spend a 
day or two with you, on my return. 

W. the Elder, As you think best. You are 
always welcome, you know. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 279 

Sydney S. Speaking of gammon, landlord, I see a 
board under the table yonder. So, suppose we drop 
sermons and criticisms for a while, and have a game 
or two before dinner. 

W. the Elder. Agreed. 

John S. Well, good bye, boys. 

W. the Elder. Good bye ; don't forget me, now, 
as you fly by. [Exit John Smith ; Sydney Sinith 
and W. the Elder sit down to a social game of 
hack-gammon . ] 



280 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



LUCIAN.— LAMB. 

W. the Elder. But, Lucian. I don't see why you 
should talk so ; still less, express yourself so con- 
temptuously on the occasion. I am only doing, in a 
small, yankee way, what you yourself did, on a 
great scale, and with such eclat, when living. 

Lttcian. Poh, poh ! I tell you again, I don't be- 
lieve in ghosts. 

W. the Elder. How ? 

Lttcian. No ; and I look upon these same spiritual 
manifestations of yours as the most thorough and 
unmitigated humbugs. 

W. the Elder. Well, you are a consistent spec- 
tre, truly ! If I had known, though, that you were 
in such an ungenial, uncommunicative humor, I 
shouldn't have troubled you with an invitation of 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 281 

this nature ; much less, have asked such distin- 
guished and delightful company to meet you. 

Lucian. I really ask your pardon, old gentleman ; 
but the truth is, your dispatch came at rather an in- 
opportune moment, finding me, as it did, overwhelm- 
ed with pecuniary liabilities, that — 

W. the Elder. I am very sorry to hear it ; not 
to any large amount, I trust. Can I be of any ser- 
vice? Don't hesitate to call on me, — but I forget. 
Of course, our terrestrial currencies and securities 
are not recognized in other orbs. 

Lucian. I fear not ; though I thank you none 
the less for your kind oiFer. But, hang the debts ! 
Here T am, and, by all the laws of good breeding, I 
am bound to make myself agreeable. But w^here is 
this same pleasant company, that you were speaking 
of? 

W. the Elder. Well, he certainly ought to have 
been here before this time. 

Lucian. He ? Who ? 

W. the Elder. Why. who should it be, old fel- 
low, but glorious Charles Lamb, himself. You'll be 
charmed with him, Lucian, I'm sure. 

Lucian. Lucifer love us, you don't say so ! 

W. the Elder. You know him, then, do you ? 

Lucian. Don't I ? Why do you stare ? Wouldn't 



282 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

it be strange if I didn't? Two such mad "wags — 
but here he comes, now. [Enter La7nb.] 

W. the Elder. My revered friend, I am over- 
joyed at this honor. 

Lmnh. Don't say that, don't say that. Why, 
holloa, Lucian, my boy, is that you ? My dear bro- 
ther fun-and-pun-maker, how are you, how are you ? 

Lucian. Welcome to America. Charles. 

W. the Elder. But, Elia dear, what kept you so? 
I began to give you up. 

Lamb. Well, I suppose I must attribute the de- 
Lay, partially to your own rascally handwriting, and 
partially to my own still more rascally geography. 
I never luas much of a traveler, you know, either. 

W. the Elder. Well, well, here you are at last, 
and we must make the most of you. You are in for 
a good long visit, are you not ? 

Lamh. Yes ; I intend to spend the entire day 
and evening with you. 

W. the Elder. Day and evening ? 

Lmnh. Not another minute can I spare, my old 
friend, so there's no use in talking about it. I have 
but a w^eek's leave of absence, and to-morrow's dawn 
must find me in dear London. 

W. the Elder. As you will ; beggars must not be 
choosers. To come at all, was so kind and conde- 
scendino". that — 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 283 

Lamh. I beg your pardon ; I was right glad to 
come. Not for the journey, however ; as I said be- 
fore, I'm no traveler ; but, to tell the honest truth, 
I needed a chano-e. 

W, the Elder. How? 

Lamh. Yes, for, inter iios, and in the strictest 
confidence, I was right down tired of playing angel. 

Lucian, Fie, fie, Charles, how can you talk so ? 

Ltamh. The confession is a disgraceful one, I ad- 
mit, and of course must go no farther ; but so 
it is, dear friends, so it is. Yes, many times, of late, 
and in the very heyday of the heavenly festivities, 
have my unworthy thoughts wandered back, to the 
roast beef and plum-pudding of earth ; have re- 
called, with guilty fondness, its old pipes and pots ; 
have been wicked enough (shame on them for it), to 
prefer its dear old Wednesday evenings, to all the 
sunshine, and music, and flowers around me. But 
bless me, what is it that smells so savory ? Pig, 
pig, as I'm a sinner. 

W. the Elder. To be sure it is. Do you sup- 
pose that I would ask you to my house, and not have 
your own pet dish on the table ? No, indeed, ^uch 
a pig, too ! one that Saint Anthony himself might 
have been proud to have given his blessing to ; come 
and take a look at it ; one of the sweetest little dar- 
lings, I assure you, that was ever nursed in old 



284 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Westchester. On further reflection, however, our 
cook is rather an impulsive creature, and might not 
altogether relish such a visit. 

Lamb, Well, well, if the pig itself relishes, that's 
the great point. 

W. the Elder. The egg hot, too, Charles, I've 
seen to that, and have got, moreover, some of the 
finest tobacco in all Virginia. 

Lamb. Why, this is really a most kind and grati- 
fying reception. 

W. the Elder. But our Greek brother, here, what 
says he to these arrangements ? He may not be so 
fond, perhaps, of his pork and his pipe, as — 

Liician. Oh, yes, yes ; nothing comes amiss to 
me. Besides, 1 always tvas fond of pork and beans. 
It was a favorite Saturday dish of ours, in Ephesus, 
eiojhteen centuries as^o. We used to wash it down 
with sparkling Lesbian, I remember ; after which, a 
first-rate Smyrna, or Samosaia segar — 

W. the Elder. Segar? 

Lucian. Certainly, segar ; or else a pipe of real 
old Egyptian tobacco, would come in, with decided 
gusto, I tell 3''ou. 

W. the Elder. Holloa, holloa, holloa ! Do you 
really mean to say, Lucian, that smoking was prac- 
tised on earth, in your day ? 

Lucian. Why, what's the matter with you ? Of 



SPIRITiJAL VISITORS. 285 

course it was, with all the rest of the small vices. 
"We ancients were not such greenhorns as you think. 

W. the Elder. Your authorities, your authorities, 
if you please, Mr. Ghost, for so startling a state- 
ment. 

La?nb. Come, come, boys, no archaeology to-day, 
if you love me. 

Lucian. So say I ; of all branches of learning, 
the most stupid and unsatisfactory. 

Lamb. Yes, and then these antiquaries lie so re- 
morselessly. 

Ltician. To be sure they do ; and if there's any- 
thing under heaven that wounds your sensitive na- 
ture, Charles, more than another, it is this same dis- 
position to equivocate, and mystify, even in jest. 

Lamb. It is, indeed. Besides, my dear host, 
don't it stand to reason, that a vice so important 
and delightful, must have been among the very ear- 
liest discoveries ? It's as old as Ararat, depend 
upon it. 

W. the Elder. If you say so, Elia, I'm satisfied ; 
at the same time, never having read about any such 
thing, in any of the old books, or having seen any 
pipes in the mouths of the figures in the old fres- 
coes, or in the Pompeian or Herculanean collections ; 
finding no such article, either, in brother Abbott's 
famous Egyptian gallery, or any mention made 



286 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

thereof, in the accounts of the recent Nineveh dig- 
gings, is it at all strange, my friend, that I should 
have expressed some little surprise, on the occasion 1 

Lamb. Certainly not, certainly not ; but I assure 
you, friend Lucian. here, is a ghost of altogether too 
much principle, to mislead you on such a point. 

W. the Elder. No doubt of it. 

Lanih. But, my dear Yankee admirer, to change 
the subject, you seem to have very snug, pleasant 
little quarters here. 

W. the Elder. A mere nutshell of a place. 

Lamb. Very cozy, though ; well booked, well pic- 
tured, too. Ah, there's my dear friend, John 
Philip ; capital likeness it is, too ; and his divine 
sister ; Harlow has hardly done her justice, though. 

W. the Elder. That's a good likeness of ^Charles, 
in the corner. 

Lamb. Ah, you knew him, did you ? 

W. the Elder. Yes, he was the only one of tho 
brothers that I have ever seen in the body. I saw 
John in the spirit, a few weeks since, and found him 
very agreeable. 

Lamb. The deuce you did ! 

W. the Elder. Yes, and what's more, he favored 
me with some magnificent recitations from Hamlet 

Lamb. You don't say so. A glorious perform- 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 28T 

ance that, old boy. But, holloa, whose head have 
"vve here ? 

W. the Elder. That's Webster. 

Lamh. What, glorious John ? 

W. the Elder. No, no ; not glorious John, but 
godlike Dan. 

Lamh. How ? Oh, yes, yes ; you mean the au- 
thor of the dictionary. 

W. the Elder. Poh, poh ! none of your fun. 

Lamh. I'm not in fun, I assure you.. 

W. the Elder. What, is it possible, Charles, that 
you are so ignorant of our Dan, black Dan, the 
greatest American manufacture we yankees ever 
turned out ? You alike amaze and mortify me. He 
who was so sublime on Bunker's Hill, so unspeaka- 
bly great in his reply to Hayne ; you surely must 
have read that speech, my friend : think, think .a 
moment. 

Lamh. Upon my soul, I can't recall it. 

W. the Elder. Well, well, it isn't so strange, per^ 
haps, after all. 

Lamh. A magnificent head, though, by Jove ; 
such majesty, such sweetness, too ! 

W. the Elder. Well, I'm glad you appreciate 
that, at any rate. 

Lamh. I do. indeed ; I never met a finer, in all 



288 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

my experience, earthly or spiritual. But, holloa, 
what folios have you got there, my boy? Anything 
in the dramatic line, eh ? 

W. the Elder. Oh, nothing worth showing. 

Lmnh. Let's see. Ah, Beaumont and Fletcher ; 
the first edition, too ; call you that nothing ? 

W. the Elder. Well, it would be something, if it 
were not so frightfully ragged and mutilated. 

Lamb. Ben Jonson^ too, and old Father Bayle^ 
and brother Barton ; why, I see lots of old friends 
here. Ah, by Greorge, Lucian, here you are, with 
all the honors. 

Lucian. Where, where? 

Lamb. Why, those four fat fellows, there, with the 
buflf backs, and crimson linings. Confound it, ghost, 
don't you know your own productions, when you see 
them ? 

Lucian. [exainines the volumes. '\ Well, this is 
fame, by Jupiter ; to be read in the original, at this 
time of day, and by a yankee, too ! 

W. the Elder. I ask your pardon, Lucian, but 
truth compels me to set you right, on one point ; 
for, though I am the bona fide owner of the work in 
question, my acquaintance with you has been purely 
through the Anglo-Saxon. 

Lucian. But, holloa, holloa ! 

Lamb. What's the matter now ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 289 

Lucian. Why, there are things here that I never 
had anything to do "with, under heaven. 

Lamb. Ah? 

Liician. Scraps from Satan^s Table; "what the 
devil's that ? that's no work of mine ; Sociability 
of the Cockroach ; Have loe a Hannibal among 
us ; Upper Crust of the Upper Ten ; confound 
it, I never wrote any such trash as this. Dialogues 
of the Dead ; that's all right enough; Chit-Chat 
of the Gods ; so is that, though not exactly the 
title I gave it ; and so on ; but then, again, I see no 
indications whatever, in the Index, of other of my 
works, and, above all, of either of my famous mas- 
terpieces. 

Lamb. And v/hat may they have been ? 

Lucian. Why, my Eulogy on Nero, of course, 
and my Tribute to Domitian. This is really too 
provoking. 

Lamb. Oh, don't be so sensitive about it. 

Lucian. But we authors have a right to be sen- 
sitive. How infernally corrupt the text is, too ! 
Who is this rascally editor, who is misrepresenting 
me thus to posterity? Hemsterhuys, Hemsterhuys? 
Do you know him, landlord ? How I should love to 
give him a bit of my mind, now ! 

W. the Elder. I have not the pleasure of his ac- 
quaintance. 



290 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Lucian. Have j/ou ever run against such a fellow, 
Charles ? 

Lamh. I dare say ; some schnapps-swilling, 
gerund-grinding, Dutch ghost, of course. But hang 
Hemsterhuys ! Ah^ what little work have we here ? 
Loioell as it ivas, a7id as it is ; what is it all about, 
anyhow ? Not an infidel production, I hope, old 
fellow ; nothing in the style of Volney^s Ruins, eh ? 

W. the Elder. Volney's fiddlesticks ! 

Lamb. Why, how the deuce should I know 1 I 
took it for granted, from the title, that it was the de- 
scription of some old dead city on the Ganges, or 
the Rancocus, or the Oregon, may be. 

W. the Elder. No dead city, nor on the Ganges, 
Charles ; but a live and kicking one, on the Merri- 
mack ; and it means to kick, too, harder and harder, 
every year, tarifi" or no tarifi*, for a good many centu- 
ries to come, I can tell you. Of course, though, a 
ghost so shamefully ignorant of Webster, would 
hardly be at home among the Lowell girls. 

Lucian. Brisbane on Association ; what the 
deuce may that be ? 

W. the Elder. Ah, there's a work after Charles's 
own heart. 

Lamb. Indeed ! let's have a peep. Not a very 
superb outside, though, I must say. By heavens, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 291 

what a magmficent palace, for a frontispiece ! What 
is itj the White House 7 

W. the Elder. Why, Charles, you don't seem to 
have your usual critical acumen, to-day ! The idea 
of putting a Democratic Republican president in 
lodgings like those ! Ah, no ; that's a Spanish 
ch&teau of brother B.'s own construction. 

Lucian. A splendid affair, truly ; far ahead of 
anything we Ephesians or Romans ever got up. 

W. the Elder. Just such a structure will, ere 
long, he says, cheer and decorate every county on 
earth. 

Lamb. That's pleasant news, anyhow ; but what's 
this, on the title-page ? The last of crimes which 
is forgiven^ is that of annotinciiig neio truths. 
Well, I confess, I hardly see the connection between 
the remark and the picture. If it was a prison, 
now — but what else does he say here ? The serie 
distributes the harn-onies of the universe. Ah, 
that's too deep for me. My ghostly brother, have 
the goodness to ray out a little light here, if you 
please. 

Lucian. [after sundry rejjetitions of the phrase.] 
I've none to shed ; my spiritual education hasn't 
got to that, yet. 

W, the Elder. Oh, well, Charles, take the volume 



292 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

with you. >Some leisure day in heaven, perhaps, 
you may possibly puzzle it out. 

Lamh. You quite overwhelm me, my friend, with 
your kindness ; and indeed, no heavenly library 
ought to be without a copy. But what else have 
we here ? Nile Notes, hy William Wilberforce ; 
Practical View, hy a Howadji ; — 

W. the Elder. Do for goodness' sake, put on your 
spiritual spectacles, Charles. What an ahsurd 
blunder, to be sure ! 

Lamh. True, true ; I'm mixing up matters here 
most shamefully. But here's a novelty for a ghost ; 
Notes and Emendations to the text of ^haks- 
peare's Plays. Collier. Is it possible, they haven't 
got through tinkering and trifling with dear Will's 
lines yet ? 

W. the Elder. So it seems ; these, however, pro- 
fess to be old emendations, made by a cotemporary, 
and in a copy of the folio of 1632. 

Lamh. Ridiculous ! some forgery, of course. 

W. the Elder. I've no doubt of it, myself. Some 
of our literary wise-acres are going crazy about it, 
however. 

Lvmh. But is there any merit in it? How long 
has it been out, pray? 

W. the Elder. Just out ; the trumpets are blow- 
ing, moreover, and the book selling, like wild-fire. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 293 

As to the emendations themselves, some, certainly, 
are very ingenious, and others, again, very childish. 
But what's tny opinion ? If you would only take 
the volume, now, my dear ghost, and jot down a few 
spiritual remarks, I should be most proud to be the 
medium of communicatino; them to mortals. 

Lamb. Oh, I can't stop for that now. Besides, 
what signifies it to me ? If I'm ever in any doubt 
about the text, haven't I the dear bard himself, to 
consult ? 

W. the Elder. True, true. You're quite a pet 
of his, Charles, I'm told. 

Lamb. He does seem to have taken a notion to 
me. He was pleased to say, not long since, that I 
understood his ways and his words, rather better 
than any ghost he ever came in contact with, bro- 
ther Coleridge, of course, always excepted. 

W. the Elder. Ah, how is brother C, by the way, 
and what is he about ? 

Lamb. Well, he's the same brilliant, eloquent, 
fascinating creature as ever ; always projecting, sel- 
dom performing. 

W. the Elder. And what may his last literary 
project be ? 

Lamb. Well, he's been talking, lately, about get- 
ting out a new Spiritual Theory of the Universe. 



294 SPIRITUAL VISITOES. 

W. the Elder. A pretty sizeable work, no doubt, 
when completed. 

Lamb. About six hundred folios, I think I heard 
him say. But look here, old fellow, isn't there some 
danger that that pig will be a trifle scorched ? 

W. the Elder. Not at all, not at all ; it will be 
a good half hour yet, before the innocent is ready 
for the altar. 

Lamb. Well, you know best, of course. But I 
must say, my friend, this collection of yours, on 
closer inspection, is frightfully miscellaneous in its 
character, and moreover, wants sorting badly. Hol- 
loa, what shabby little volume is this, in the green 
paste-board and red back? Some arithmetic, or 
obsolete spelling-book, I dare say. 

W. the Elder. That, Charles, is a collection of 
very trashy and superficial essays, with the absurd 
name of Elia attached to them. You may have 
heard of the work, possibly. 

Lamb. You don't tell me so. What, this whitey- 
brown, infamously printed, diabolically punctuated 
affair ? Why, I was told that I was quite popular 
among you yankees. 

Lucian. Look out, now, Charles, don't show any 
temper. Recollect your caution to me, just now. 

La?nb. Yes ; but such a downright, nasty edition 
as this. — 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 295 

W. the Elder. Come, come, old fellow, don't kick 
that book, if you please. I've some dear associa- 
tions connected with it, let me tell you. But if you 
really want to see yourself in more becoming cos- 
tume, just raise your ghostly head a little, and look 
in that corner. There you are, you see, in a dear 
little niche all to yourself ; a dozen strong, and in 
Moxon's prettiest style. [Lamb takes up the Final 
Memorials.] 

Lamh. Ah, what have we here ? And by dear 
brother Talfourd, too ? [He turns over a page or 
two, and then seems lost in thought.] 

Lamb, [after a long pause.] I ask pardon, my 
dear friends ; but my mind was wandering in far-off, 
and not o'er happy regions. Let's — let's change 
the subject. But come, my old boy, how are you 
going to dispose of us, after dinner, eh ? What di- 
versions has this bustling town of yours to offer ? 
What have you got at the play-house, to show a 
ghost ? Holloa, what does that play-bill say, on the 
fence yonder ? Twelfth-Night 1 By Jove, Lucian, 
we must go and see it. 

Lucian. With all my heart. 

W. the Elder. No, no, no. 

Lamh. And why not ? Ah, yes, I see how it is. 
You don't want to mortify me. To be sure, we Lon- 
doners used to get up Shakspeare pretty decently, 



296 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

in my time, but you yankees have made such im- 
provements since, as have put us quite in the shade. 
You don't want to hurt my national feelings, evi- 
dently. 

W. the Elder. I beg your pardon. On the 
contrary, I do not wish to subject a ghost of your 
dramatic experience to any such severe trial. 

Lamb. Indeed ! I am sorry to hear you say that. 
W. the Elder. Not but what we have, here and 
there, an actor of rare gifts, and truly Shaksperian 
conceptions ; at the same time, there is not a com- 
pany in all our broad land (and it grieves me to con- 
fess it, my friend), that can begin to interpret any 
one of the divine bard's plays, even respectably. 
Oh, no, Charles, a ghost that has seen what you 
have, at Covent Garden and Old Drury, and de- 
scribed it, too, so exquisitely, so deliciously, is not to 
be trifled with. 

Lamb. Well, well ; what's the after-piece ? 

W. the Elder. The Toodles. That^ now, is 
worth seeing. There is a performer in it, who will 
really recall to you your own dear immortal Mun- 
den ; quite as rare a humorist, and incomparable a 
face-maker. We'll look in there, in the course of 
the evening. 

Lucian. Oh, hang the theatres ! My advice is, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 297 

to make a social, chatty night of it, over our pipes, 
and our Gumess. 

Lamb. As you please, boys, as you please, [tu- 
jjiidt within.] Holloa, holloa, what's the trouble 
now 7 Something's going wrong, evidently, and I'm 
afraid that dear little cherub of a porker is at the 
bottom of it. Don't, for heaven's sake, let there be 
any disappointment in that quarter, my old friend. 
I've quite set my ghostly heart upon a bit of it. 

W. the Elder. Confound that vixen of a cook ! 
[As he is going out, servant enters to announce 
dinner.] All right, all right. Now, my lads, for a 
taste of the earthly paradise. 

Lamb. After you, Lucian. [Exeunt.] 



298 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



FATHER NILE.—FATHER MISSISSIPPI. 

Father M. How d'ye do, kinsman ? 

Father N. Why, my dear great-great-grandson 
and pitcher of a stream, how are you ? What, in 
the name of wonder, brings you this way ? 

Father M. AVell, the same business that brings 
you, I suppose; I come as a delegate to the great 
River and Harbor Convention, to be held, this bless- 
ed day, at the embouchure of our young friend, the 
Hudson. Don't your credentials tell the same 
story ? 

Father N. Verily, they do. Well, I'm right glad 
to mingle waters with you, once more. Bless my 
old soul, we haven't met before, I believe, since the 
great flood of — 

Father M. Oh, never mind the dates, grandfather. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 299 

But, really, my dear kinsman, you must have left 
your bed right early this morning, to have got here 
already. 

Father N. Yes, indeed ; though I was never very 
famous for being an early riser ; eh, my boy ? 

W. the Elder, [aside.] Why, what a couple of 
extraordinary visitors ! I've no recollection of ask- 
ing them here. I'd better be looking out for my 
life-preserver, I think. 

Father N. Holloa there, mortal, who are you, and 
what are you about ? I should think you had the 
hydrophobia, from your motions. 

W. the Elder. Well, you are a cool stream, I 
must say. I'd have you to know, river-gods, that I 
am proprietor here. 

Father M. Don't he touchy, now. We are only 
stopping our currents here, for a moment or two, on 
our way to the Convention. 

W. the Elder. All right, all right. You meet 
to-day, do you ? 

Father M. We do, at high noon, precisely. But 
if you prefer our room to our company — 

W. the Elder. Not at all, not at all ; besides, it's 
some time to t^-elve, yet. So. slack water, old fel- 
lows, and be sociable. By the way, Father Nile, 
you must need some refreshment, after your long 
flow. I have some tip- top old Jamaica here, almost 



300 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

as venerable as yourself. Allow me to make you 
acquainted. 

Father N. Well, I don't care if I do run grog, 
for a few minutes. 

W. the Elder. And what say you, Father M. ? 

Father M. No Jamaica for me, if you please. If 
you've got a little Monongahela handy, you may 
throw it in. [ W. the Elder does as desired.] 

Father N. Ah, I feel better, already. Well, 
Mississippi, how have you been, these ages past ? 
How are all your tributaries, and why haven't you 
brought them with you ? 

Father M. Well, mine is a pretty large family, 
you know. The idea of bringing them all, was quite 
out of the question ; and so, not wishing to make 
any odious distinctions, I thought it best to come 
alone. But where are your own branches, grand- 
sire ? 

Father N. Well, to say truth, I could neither 
afford to bring them, nor could they conveniently be 
spared from home. 

Father M. How is Father Niger's health, this 
season ? 

Father N. He is very low, I'm sorry to say ; his 
gravel complaint troubles him worse than ever. 

Father M. Indeed ! I'm right sorry to hear 
that. You are looking in pretty good case yourself. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 301 

Father N. Only tolerable. 

Father M. Ah, what's been the matter? 

Father N. Well, general debility ; besides, I've 
had a touch of the strangury, now, more or less, for 
several summers back, which I needn't tell you, has 
been a source of a good deal of pain to myself, and 
of anxiety to Egypt. You were never troubled that 
way, I believe. 

Father M. No ; my ailments are of a very differ- 
ent sort. But do tell us, how are the rest of our 
Oriental brethren ? Asia, I suppose, will be pretty 
fully represented in the Convention ? No ! 

Father N. Very fairly ; so, at least, old Hoang- 
ho told me, yesterday. China is deeply interested, 
he says, in the movement. Father Obi, too, intends 
to be present, and to lay before the meeting some 
very interesting details concerning the trade of Si- 
beria. 

Father M. From all that I can learn, I think we 
shall have quite an entertaining and instructive time 
of it. Father Oregon's report, of course, will be a 
very brilliant affair. Father St. Lawrence, too, it 
is said, has brought down quite a mass of useful in- 
formation with him. Our fluent friend, the Para- 
guay, has got a good many useful suggestions to 
make, as usual, about the South American trade. 
Father Amazon, moreover, is full of good ideas on 



302 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

the subject. Father Danube, who is to preside, they 
say has got a most sparkling inaugural all ready ; 
some passages in it, quite Websterian. 

Father N. You, too, they tell me, are to favor us 
with a perfect torrent of statistics. Is it not so ? 

Father M. I shall be heard from, depend upon it, 
if I get a chance. But your own paper, so says 
Father Thames, on the Future of Africa^ will be, 
by all odds, the ablest document submitted to the 
Convention. 

Father N. Drown Father Thames ! What should 
he know of my sentiments ? The sly dog, his mo- 
tives in flattering me are too transparent, deep as 
he thinks himself Confound the fellow ! If he 
could have his way, he would monopolize the navi- 
gation of the entire planet. 

Father M. The old hypocrite ! But we'll stop 
his mouth for him, one of these days. A most in- 
teresting: theme, however, kinsman ; the future of 
Africa : pray, how have you handled it ? Do you 
take a hopeful or a gloomy view of things ? 

W. the Elder, [aside.] I'd better be getting out 
my papyrus ; I may possibly hear something worth 
reporting. 

Father M. You surely have no idea of retiring 
from business yourself, and of leaving poor Egypt 
to— 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 303 

Father. N. Oh, no, no, no ; heaven forbid ! On 
the contrary, I look forward to a greatly improved 
state of trade and navigation, not only in my own 
waters, but throughout our continent. The main 
topic, however, of my memorial to the Convention, 
is the case of old Father Niger. 

Father M. Ah ? 

Father N. Yes ; both the old gentleman, and 
myself, are beginning to be quite concerned about 
the afifair. 'Twas but a few days since, that he told 
me he was very anxious to have his troubles laid be- 
fore the meeting, his ailments inquired into, his 
whereabouts explored ; in a word, he was dying to 
be restored to sound, wholesome, navigable condi- 
tion, and to take his proper place among the 
business -rivers of the world ; that he was quite 
tired of flowing through a land of heathens and 
cannibals, and longed to see a little culture and 
commerce on his banks ; and so on, and so on. He 
was downright dolorous about it, I assure you. 

Father M. Poor old fellow ! But wouldn't it 
have been better, kinsman, if he had come and made 
the appeal, in person ? 

Father N. Certainly ; but, as I intimated to you 
before, he's quite too ill to leave hi? bed ; otherwise, 
he'd have been here without fail. 



304 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Father M. True, true ; but what's to be done, 
pray ? 

Father N. Well, what I want is this (and that's 
the main burden of my song) — to have you Ameri- 
can rivers lay your heads together in Convention, 
and bring the matter fairly before Great Father 
Jonathan. If the other powers choose to cooperate, 
well and good ; still, individually, I should prefer to 
have neither Asiatic nor European intervention in 
the matter. I want you yankees to have all the 
glory of this business. 

Father M. Ah, that's it, is it ; a pretty scheme, 
certainly. 

Father M. When this is done (and I consider it 
an enterprise as much within the means, as it is 
worthy the ambition, of your nation), there is an- 
other little affair, likewise, which I would like to 
have you Western boys help us along with. 

Father M. And pray, what may that be ? 

Father N. Simply this ; the uniting of the two 
streams by a judicious system of canals ; a matter, 
also, alike feasible and desirable, and which, if 
wisely carried out, will not only reflect honor on 
American genius, and bring profit to American capi- 
tal, but will give new life, new energy, new pros- 
pects to both our old African waters. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 305 

IV. the Elder, [aside.^ These are plans and dis- 
closures, by George. 

Father N. I have duly indicated, on a map an- 
nexed to the memorial, the routes that I consider 
the best and cheapest, for said canals ; likewise a 
few desirable railroad routes ; with estimates of the 
probable cost of constructing the works in question. 
[ Takes out and imfolds a large map of Central 
Africa.*] 

Father M. Why, that is a beauty ; so minute, 
too, apparently. But are you quite sure that all 
these feeders and tributaries actually exist ? Hasn't 
the artist flattered nature somewhat ? 

Father N. I'll vouch for its accuracy, my boy. 
Of course. I've no time to enter into details now ; 
especially as I shall have to go over the whole 
ground, before the Convention ; but does not the 
merest glance convince you, both of the feasibility 
and the immense value to Africa, to the world, 
of an improvement of this nature ? 

* The Editor must here again regret the unpardonable negli- 
gence of his old friend, in not having procured a copy, or at least 
snatched some valuable hints, from the map above mentioned. 
Heaven only knows when such another opportunity will occur 
again. Such a transcript, too. It would have been worth a 
pretty penny, this very hour, to his descendanta. Poor old souL 
it was just like him. 



306 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Father M.. It certainly has a most plausible, fas- 
cinating look, on parchment. But, my old oriental 
friend, hold on a moment, if you please. Isn't this 
going to be a frightfully expensive operation ? Hol- 
loa, what figures are these ? Probable total expen- 
diture^ tioenty -seven hundred millions of dollars. 

W. the Elder. Whew ! There's a pocket full of 
rocks for you ! 

Father N. What the deuce are you whistling 
about, mortal ? I consider that sum a mere flea-bite, 
for a nation like yours. 

Father M. Well, perhaps it would be so, if we 
hadn't sundry other little jobs on hand, and accounts 
to settle. 

Father N. Of what nature, may I ask 1 

Father M. Well, in the first place, we've got a 
good deal of unfinished boundary business to dispose 
of, which w'ill cost Uncle Samuel a good deal, in the 
Avay of dinners and grog bills ; then there's the en- 
largement of the National Tea-Room ; the multi- 
plication of offices of all sorts, and the doubling of 
all our outfits and salaries ; the purchase of some 
two or three hundred islands on the Pacific, which 
are indispensably necessary as outlets for our over- 
crowded population ; islands, of course, which we 
would vastly prefer stealing to buying, if the other 
Christian powers w^ould agree to it ; then there's 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 307 

the annexation of Greenland and Kamschatka, which 
we all feel to be important, for the putting of our 
Ice Trade on a firm footing ; not to speak of some 
half dozen more railroads to the Pacific, and some 
other little items. 

Father N. Well, these must all be attended to 
first, of course. I don't wish to be unreasonable. 

Father M. And then, again, grandsire, my own 
claims upon the paternal care of the government, 
ought to have precedence over all foreign improve- 
ments. 

Father N. Unquestionably ; but are you not in 
fine order, my son ? I don't mean morally, of course ; 
for I am well aware of the frisrhtful amount of drink- 
ing, lynching, poker-playing, and boiler-bursting, 
along your shores ; but physically 1 

Father M. Anything else, I assure you. There's 
a world of work to be done on me yet, in the way 
of snag-pulling, levee-making, harbor-cleaning, chan- 
nel-straiijhtenino:. and what not, before I shall becrin 
to consider myself a safe and reputable stream ; yes, 
to the tune of a great many, many millions of dollars. 

Father N. You amaze me. I had a notion that 
you had been quite a pet of the government, and 
source of outlay to it, ever since its organization. 

Father M. I beg your pardon. I've had a good 
many handsome things said about me, to be sure, at 



308 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

different times, in Congress, and in occasional youth- 
ful epics ; but no appropriations worth mentioning. 
On the contrary, I have been most shamefully neg- 
lected. However, okl patriarch, I like your idea, I 
must say, amazingly ; it is, indeed, a grand one, a 
cosmopolitan one. The exploration of the Niger, 
and its redemption from the horrors of barbarism, 
and its introduction into the great circle of civilized 
rivers, are truly magnificent undertakings ; what 
nation might not be proud to achieve them, or co- 
operate therein? Morally, commercially, politi- 
cally, in every point of view, are they worthy of the 
stateman's profoundest study. I fear, however, my 
old friend, that the age is not ripe enough yet, by a 
good many centuries, for any such results. Still, 
don't fail to bring the thing before the Convention. 
What little influence I have there, you may depend 
upon, I assure you. 

Father N. But had'nt we better begin to think of 
flowing that way ? 

Father M. Perhaps we had. 

W. the Elder. Hold on, friends, hold on. You're 
time enough yet. By the way. Father J^., try a lit- 
tle more of this old tonic, won't you ? 

Father N. Not another drop. [Aside.^ I'm a lit- 
tle over the bay, now, I'm afraid. So come, Young 
Rapid, put your current in motion. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 309 

W. the Elder. Oh, don't be in such an unrea* 
sonable hurr3^ Besides, I've a social question or 
two to ask, if agreeable. Such chances as these 
don't occur often, you knoAV. 

Father M. Well, I believe it is the first time that 
any mortal -was ever present at any of our spiritual 
confluences, eh, grand-dad? 

Father N. True ; but what do you want to find 
out, old gentleman ? Come, put your queries. 

W. the Elder. Well, to begin with : what were 
mummies going at a thousand, when you left home ? 

Father N. Which sort — the genuine, home-made 
mummies, or the London and Paris imitations? 

TF. the Elder. Oh, hang the imitations ! I refer 
to the genuine articles, of course. 

Father N. Well, what description of mummy ? 
AVhat varieties do you want — human beings, or bulls, 
or cats, or snakes, or crocodiles ? How is it ? Be a 
little more explicit. By the way, though, I've a tariff 
of prices in my pocket. Here it is [hands it to hini\ ; 
you'll find all about it there, and the rates, duly set 
down in sequins and piastres. 

W. the Elder. Thank you, thank you ; this is 
really quite satisfactory. Let's see — Royal Mum- 
mies, from Thebes, warranted, 10,000 sequins. 
That's altogether beyond my mark — ah yes, sacer- 
dotal muramieSj military mummies, Tom-Dick-and- 



310 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Harry mummies, of all sorts and sizes, with or with- 
out wrappings, and at all prices, from a thousand 
down to fifty sequins. Ah, what have we here ? A 
dozen sacred bulls, direct from Dashour ; splendid 
specimens, to be sold by the dozen, or single bull — 
sacred snakes, of all varieties — ten thousand cats, 
just received from the cat-tombs at Sakkarah, and 
in prime condition. Several of these cats were, as 
w^ould appear from the inscriptions on their boxes, 
very celebrated mousers, in the times of the first 
and second Pharaohs. Sacred crocodiles, a very 
superb assortment. Holloa, w^hat the old Harry 
have we here ? Sacred mosquitoes — what, is it pos- 
sible, old Father Nile, that they embalmed mos- 
quitoes, in those days ? 

Father N. Certainly they did. 

W. the Elder. Heavens and earth, what an idea ! 
And looked upon them as objects of worship, too? 

Father N. Undoubtedly. 

W. the Elder. And erected temples in their hon- 
or, I dare say. 

Father N. Most indubitably. 

W. the Elder. Come now, do tell us ; what was 
the character of the services in a temple of that 
sort ? Do'you happen to remember any old Egyp- 
tian hymn to the mosquito ? What sort of a prayer, 
too — 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 811 

Father N. And do you suppose, mortal, that I 
am going to gratify this absurd, this wicked curiosity 
of yours ? No, indeed. For shame ! Is it not 
sufficiently disgusting, and disgraceful to us, that 
such abominations ever existed on earth ; and do 
you seek to revive them, out of mere sport and wan- 
tonness ? Come, Mississippi, let's be off. 

W. the Elder. I ask ten thousand pardons. I 
meant no harm, I assure vou. 

Father N. Well, well, never mind. 

W. the Elder. Forgive me for further inquiry, if 
the cockroach was much worshipped among you? 

Father N. No, no ; there was some little local 
worship of the cockroach, certainly ; but you ought 
to know that the beetle was our great national 
divinity. 

W. /he Elder. Ah, yes, I had forgotten. By the 
way, one more, and that a purely commercial ques- 
tion. How are Sphinxes going now ? 

Father M. Yes, Nile, do tell us. I feel interest- 
ed in that inquiry, myself. Do you know, I had a 
notion of purchasing a hundred or two of the arti- 
cle? 

Father N. Indeed ! 

Father M. Yes, to put round, in different spots, 
in my valley. It sadly needs ornaments of that de- 
scription. 



312 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Father N. Pshaw ! Don't disgrace that magnifi- 
cent valley of yours with any such trumpery. I'm 
quite ashamed of you. What, when you have so many 
saints and apostles of the true faith to commemo- 
rate, so many glorious sages, and warriors, and 
statesmen of your own, to put in bronze and mar- 
ble ? I'm really quite shocked, kinsman, at your 
want of taste. Sphinxes, indeed ! You'd much 
better be putting up Washingtons. 

Father M. Well, well, I'll think better of it. 

Father N. But come, we must positively flow by; 
we shall be late else. 

W. the Elder. I'm right sorry to lose you thus, 
friends. There was one other little question, by the 
way— 

Father N, What is it, what is it ? 

W. the Elder. I am rather anxious to know how 
real estate is selling, along your shores. What 
were water-lots in Cairo bringing, when you left? 

Father N. Cairo water-lots — you mean Boulak, 
I suppose : the same thing ; let me see. Well, I 
should say that you could get the most eligible ones 
in town, for a hundred of your dollars the foot. I'll 
sell you half a dozen myself, 25 feet by 200, for 
15,000 dollars. 

Father M. You wouldn't catch me selling my 
Cairo property at any such rates, I tell you. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 313 

Father N. Your Cairo property ? 

Father M. Yes, mine. What, didn't you know, 
old fellow, that I had a nice little Cairo of my own, 
on my banks ? Soon to be a nice big one, too ; yes, 
and destined to cut much more of a figure in history 
than its namesake ever did. 

Father N. We shall see as to that ; but, confound 
your impudence, what business had you to take my 
name in vain, in this style ? 

Father M. Your name in vain ? Why, kinsman, 
I've got all the great classical names on my margin, 
let me tell you : Memphis, K-ome, Utica, Palmyra, 
Carthage, Herculaneum, and I know not how many 
others ; and what's more, I intend, as I said before, 
to make most of them far more illustrious than their 
predecessors ever were. Cairo's my pet, though ; 
Cairo forever ! 

Father N. You don't mean to say, that you've 
got a Delta there, do you, and pyramids, and lotus- 
groves, and all that sort of thing ? 

Father M. To be sur« we have, and all the mod- 
ern improvements and luxuries, besides, that you 
never dreamt of, old fellow ; a tip-top morning and 
evening paper, a first class hotel, a dozen more on 
the tapis, an opera-house already talked of — and 
then such a levee ! There isn't a river in the whole 
eastern hemisphere, that ever saw anything like it. 



314 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Father N. Ah, that's your Western bragging. 

Father M. I beg your pardon ; it's the naked 
truth. 

Father N. Well, well, success to you ! I'm not 
envious. I expect my Cairo will have new life put 
in its veins, some of these days. 

Father M. I hope so, with all my heart. I shall 
be delighted to see the two cities exchanging civili- 
ties, ten thousand years hence. We shall always 
be happy to accommodate you with loans, or any 
other little articles you may want, or to show your 
countrymen our lions, or to have an occasional tele- 
graphic game of chess with you. 

Father N. You are very kind ; but come, com?, 
we must positively be off. 

W. the Elder. Well, if you must — one other lit- 
tle item, by the way. 

Father N. Confound you, what is it ? 

W. the Elder. If you'd only have the goodness 
now, to drop in as you go by, and take a peep at 
brother Abbott's Museum — • 

Father N. Who the deuce is Abbott, and what 
has he got to show ? 

W. the Elder. You ought to know him, surely j 
he has spent many a long year on your shores. He 
has articles to show, moreover, which you were fa- 
miliar with, ages and ages ago. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 315 

Father N. I dare say. 

W. the Elder. The most curious of them all, 
however, are a necklace and ear-rings, that he in- 
sists upon it, were worn by the elder Pharaoh, some 
forty-six hundred years back. Beautiful things 
they are, too ; and if genuine — 

Father N. And why shouldn't they be genuine ? 

W. the Elder. Well, that's a good while ago, you 
know. 

Father N. To you young Americans it may seem 
so ; not to an old stager, like me. I've no doubt of 
the authenticity of the relics, however. 

W. the Elder. Ah, if you'd only say so, in black 
and white, it would relieve all our minds, at once. 
So, do look in a moment. 

Father iV. Well, I will try to snatch a minute 
for the purpose, after Convention. 

W. the Elder. I wish you would, for if those are 
the very trinkets that old Pharaoh used to see com- 
pany in, it seems to me that there's nothing in all 
America, half so curious. 

Father N. But come, Mississippi, come ; we must 
not trifle time any longer. 

Father M. Flow ahead, old fellow, I'll follow you. 

[Exeunt. 



316 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 



PERICLES.— HAMILTON. 

Ham. Butj my dear friend, I am fatiguing you. 

Per, Not at all, not at all. On the contrary, I 
am exceedingly interested. I have long been anx- 
ious to become better acquainted, both with the his- 
tory and the nature of this famous American Con- 
stitution of yours, and with its illustrious founders. 
Such explanations as these, and from the leading 
architect of the fabric himself, are delightful, I as- 
sure you. I wouldn't have missed them, for a good 
deal. 

Ham. The approbation of Pericles is indeed most 
gratifying. 

Pe7\ Nor are these mere words of civility, my 
friend, but the sincere convictions of one who, as you 
know, has had a good deal to do with government- 
making in his time. Yes, Hamilton, as a legislator 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 317 

of more than two thousand years' standing, and in 
not a few worlds, I declare, unhesitatingly, that the 
political structure which you have just been de- 
scribing to me, is without peer, in the universe, so 
far as I know, either for strength or beauty. As to 
the performances of us old Greeks, on earth, in that 
department, they were utterly childish in compari- 
son ; Rome, certainly, never turned out any such 
piece of work, in her proudest days ; no, nor Eng- 
land either, notwithstanding all the far-fetched 
praises of brothers Montesquieu and Blackstone. 

Ham, This is warm praise, my friend, I must 
say. 

Per. But why do I idly seek to set it forth ? Is 
not the spectacle itself, that we are permitted to be- 
hold this day, far more eloquent in its behalf, than 
any vain words of mine ? The spectacle of a land so 
vast, so fair, whose growth in power and renown is 
unprecedented in human annals ? Oh, what an un- 
speakable satisfaction must it be to you, my friend, 
thus to gaze upon it, and to feel that to your own 
patriotic toils and struggles, far more than to those 
of any of your compatriots — I had almost included 
those even of the illustrious Washington himself — 
this magnificent consummation is to be ascribed ! 

Ham. Stop, stop, stop, my dear friend ; I may 
not, dare not listen to words like these. Name not 



318 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

my humble name, I beseech you, in the same breath 
with that of Washington ; name no patriot of earth 
in the same lustrum with him. No, no. The great 
Mother never gave, never will give her children 
such another. I would not speak disparagingly of 
the labors of my dear brother- soldiers and states- 
men, nor with any unworthy affectation of modesty, 
of my own. We did work hard and faithfully, for 
the common weal ; but, Pericles, all our labors 
combined, are not to be weighed against those of our 
great leader. His inspiring presence alone, his wis- 
dom, goodness, faith, sustained us, and bore us on 
to victory. Without them, all our efforts and sacri- 
fices would have been of no avail, and America (I 
verily believe it), after seeing her best sons perishing 
on the scaffolds, or languishing in dungeons, would 
have been creeping along, under colonial rule, this 
very hour. AVashington alone could have saved us 
from such a catastrophe ; his counsels alone could 
have secured to us that Union, without which Inde- 
pendence had been a mockery. Unto him, then, be 
the honor and the praise, through all time ! With this 
qualification, my dear Pericles, which truth and 
gratitude alike force from me, I sympathize most 
heartily, I need not say, with the sentiments you 
were pleased to express. I do feel most proud and 
happy to behold the unexampled prosperity of my 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 319 

beloved country. 'Tis just fifty years now, my 
friend, since my departure from the body ; and to 
think that in this little time, America hath reached 
such a height of power, hath acquired such a name 
among the nations of the earth, and above all, hath 
such a prospect of a long, long day of happiness and 
renown before her ! I should be the most ungrate- 
ful of ghosts, indeed, were I not thrilled with joy 
thereat. All the more so, too, Pericles, in that I 
looked forward to no such result. 

Per. Indeed ! 

Ham. Yes, my friend, I must candidly confess to 
you, that I had great misgivings as to my country's 
future ; painful doubts, which I freely expressed too, 
in my life-time, as to the workings of that same 
Constitution which you have so extolled. 

Per. You surprise me. It is not, then, alto- 
gether the instrument you would have made it. 
Pray, may I ask, what were these same fancied de- 
fects that you saw in it ? 

Ham. Well, I have already taxed your patience 
quite too far. 

Per. Not so ; go on, go on. 

W. the Elder, [aside to Hamilton.] Suppose I 
just give him a copy of your Life. It would at the 
same time gratify me, and save you a considerable 
outlay of breath. 



320 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Ham. [To W. the Elder.] Thank you, thank 
you, my worthy host, for the suggestion. 

W. the Elder, [getting the same from the 
library J and presenting it.] Will Pericles allow me 
to anticipate somewhat, the explanations of my re- 
vered countryman, by soliciting his acceptance of 
these volumes ? He will there find all the ques- 
tions to which he refers, discussed at length. 

Per. Ah, what's this ; the Life of Hainilton 7 
By his own son, too ! Bravo, bravo ; this is 2^ treat. 
What an admirable likeness, too ! 1 shall be most 
proud, indeed, my terrestrial friend, to receive such 
a present, I assure you. 

W. the Elder. I have already had the honor of 
putting the name of Aristides in a copy of the 
Federalist, and now to add your own, is — 

Per. Indeed ! You have had a call from my old 
Greek brother, have you ? 

W. the Elder, Yes, a most charming one. What's 
more, Chief Justice Jay was with him at the time. 

Harn. You don't tell me so ! What brother Jay ? 

W. the Elder. Yes, not three moons ago were 
they here, and in those very chairs. I don't know 
when I have listened to a pleasanter bit of spiritual 
chit-chat. To be sure, there were one or two dis- 
cussions of knotty points, in the Laic of Planets, 
that were rather too deep for my poor mortal wits. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 321 

Per. I dare say ; but to return to our theme, 
brother H. ; I need not tell you what pleasure and 
profit I anticipate in the perusal of this record of 
your thoughts and labors, nor how deeply I rejoice 
"with you in the triumphant 'refutation of all your 
doubts and fears, to which this day bears witness. 
I shall dedicate the very earliest of my ghostly 
leisure to these volumes. [Music is heard in the 
street.] Ah, what delicious strains are those? [he 
goes to the windoiv.] And such soldiers, too ! A 
most superb body of men, truly. Who are they, 
who are they 7 

Ham. Superb, indeed, and as you say, most deli- 
cious music. Pray, my worthy host, what may all 
this signify? 

W, the Elder. Charming, charming ! 

Per. Yes, but what is it ? 

W. the Elder. Why, what should it be, but bro- 
ther Dodworth's band, returning home with the 
Light Guard, from the Plymouth festival? You've 
heard no finer music than that, Pericles, PU venture 
to say, in any hemisphere of any planet. 

Per. Dodworth 7 Plymouth 7 Be a little more 
explicit, if you please. 

Ham,. Yes, landlord ; and pray what takes our 
friends to Plymouth at this season of the year? 



322 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Pilgrim-day in the dog-days ? I can't comprehend 
it, I confess. 

W. the Elder. Well, you must know that there 
has been an eflfort made, this year, to change the time 
of celebration from debarkation to embarkation-day. 
We descendants of Standish don't altogether relish 
the northeasterly gales that enliven Plymouth in the 
month of December, and would fain offer our vows 
at a more genial season. I was about to add, that I 
thought the move a good one ; but that frown on 
your face, my dear spirit, announces a different 
opinion. 

Ham. A very bad move, a very bad move, my 
friend. I have no patience with such a suggestion. 
What, sink the Landing in the Embarkation, the 
greater event in the less, the triumph in the trial, 
the grand, crowning mercy of Dec. 22nd, the very 
birth-hour of the nation, in the doubts and fears 
and heart-sickening partings of the 1st of August ? 
I see no propriety whatever, in the change, histori- 
cal, moral, or poetical. No, no ; celebrate both 
days, if you will, and with rites appropriate and 
significant ; Heaven knows there are few enough 
holidays among you ; but do not confound them thus, 
still less, sacrifice the far more eventful, suggestive, 
glorious of the two, to the other. 

W. the Elder. You're quite right \ and I wonder 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 323 

now that our eastern brethren should have been be- 
trayed into such an error. Will you allow me to 
communicate your spiritual views to them, on this 
point ? They will receive them as law, undoubtedly. 

Ham. As you will, old gentleman. I have no 
wish, though, to dictate on the subject. 

W. the Elder. And yet, my dear ghost, unseason- 
able as you may deem the celebration to have been, 
I have no doubt it would have delighted you to have 
been present. Not to speak of the other entertain- 
ments, the splendid oratory of Everett alone, and 
that brilliant picture he drew of the future of Ame- 
rica, would have a hundred fold repaid you for your 
visit. 

Ham. No doubt, no doubt. The fame of his elo- 
quence reached my ears long since ; and, indeed, 
'twas but the other day that I heard brother Web- 
ster himself, speaking of him, as the American 
Cicero. 

W. the Elder. Ah ! Is it possible ? You have 
met, then, our illustrious 

Ham. I have. He ought to know what good 
speaking is. 

W. the Elder. Being himself an orator without 
peer. By the way. General, the most magnificent 
thing I ever heard from him, was a tribute to your 



824 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

own genius and virtues. It has found its way al- 
ready into all the school-books in the land. 

Hmn. I am delighted to hear it. His praise is 
fame, indeed ! But, holloa, what's the matter with 
our Greek friend here ? Brother lawgiver, an obolus 
for your thoughts. 

Per. I beg pardon, friends ; but to say truth, I 
w^as so carried away by that fascinating music, that 
I had quite lost the run of the conversation. You 
were speaking of 

Ham. Daniel Webster. 

Per. Ah, true, true ; your illustrious compatriot; 
but recently from earth, is he not? So at least, 
Colbert told me ; the famous expounder of that Con- 
stitution, that you have had so much to say about : 
the same that we met at brother Burke's last recep- 
tion ; no ? 

Horn. The same, the same ; and a most magnifi- 
cent ghost he is, too. ^^ the way, mine host, while 
I think of it, how outrageously shabby and ungrate- 
ful it was. in your countrymen, not to have made 
him President years ago. I'm perfectly ashamed of 
them. 

Per. The old story, the old story. 

W. the Elder. It was, indeed, as j^ou say, moat 
shabby in us. Such a want of discernment, too, as 
well as decency ! And we served glorious Harry 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 325 

Clay in just the same ■way. Confound it, it makes 
me curse, almost, whenever I think of it. As to 
that, though. General, I don't believe, between our- 
selves, that you would have stood the first ghost of 
a chance, yourself, had you been a candidate at any 
of our recent elections ; no, by George, I don't be- 
lieve you would have carried a solitary state, out of 
the one and thirty. 

Ham. Nor I ; possibly little Delaware ; no other. 

Per. Little Delaware ? 

Ham. The same ; we call it little, though it would 
have been a large state, in your old Peloponnesus. 

W. the Elder. However, dropping politics and 
personalities, and to return to our Plymouth friends ; 
I really can't help regretting, my illustrious guests, 
that you didn't happen to be paying your terrestrial 
visit, some two or three weeks sooner ; for besides 
this same Pilgrim Festival, there have been a vari- 
ety of interesting celebrations, within that period, 
at which I should have been most proud of your 
company. 

Per. Such as what, my friend ? 

W. the Elder. Well, there were, first and fore- 
most, the Commencement Exercises at Dartmouth 
College, including brother Choate's most brilliant 
of eulogies ; then the grand gathering at Yale, the 
Phi Beta Kappa Frolic at Harvard, the Alpha Phi 



326 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Delta Performances at Middleburj, the Sigma Psi 
Upsilon Entertainments at Schenectady, the Kappa 
Gamma Lambda Recreations at Canajoharie — 

Per. What, what, what? 

W. the Elder. But above all, the Inauguration 
Ceremonies at our magnificent Crystal Palace. 
What would I not have given, to have had two such 
august shades as yourselves, present on that occa- 
sion ! 

Ham. Well, well, my friend, we shall find quite 
enough to delight and surprise us, as it is ; myself, 
more especially, as one of the old settlers here. We 
mustn't forget, though, to see that same palace, bro- 
ther P. ; yes, before another sun sets. 

Per. By all means. 

Ham. And our old host, here, must be the cice- 
rone. 

W. the Elder. Most gladly, if you desire it. 

Ham. We shall insist upon it. By the way, do 
you happen to have a map of the city handy ? 
Why, it would take me a good week, at least, to 
hunt up my old haunts here, and to identify the 
localities. A propos de ca, is the United States 
Branch Bank anywhere in this neighborhood ? 

W. the Elder. I should rather think not. 

Ham. Some distance, eh? Well, it's of no great 
consequence. What may the Cashier's name be ? 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 827 

And could you tell me, in round numbers, the 
amount of government deposits in the institution, at 
this present time ? 

W. the Elder. The amount of deposits ? 

Ham. Certainly ; why, what's the matter ? You 
surely ought to know something of the finances of 
the country. What say the last Treasury returns ? 
Never mind the fractions ; how much, how much ? 

W. the Elder. Not the first stiver. 

Ham. Come, come, no humbug. What's the stock 
selling at, to-day ? A good deal above par, of course ; 
No? 

W. the Elder. Seventy -five cents a share, the last 
quotations ; and very hard to get rid of, at that. 

Ham. Poh, poh, none of your jokes. 

W. the Elder. Jokes ? I hold (.[aifce too much of 
the article, I assure you, to be joking on the subject. 
What makes you stare so, General? Why, is it 
possible that you didn't know, that the National 
Bank had become an obsolete idea, some time since? 
What, a ghost of your financial celebrity, so com- 
pletely to lose the run of our moneyed affairs, here 
below, since your departure ? You amaze me. Is 
it possible that Mr. Webster had nothing to say to 
you, on that subject? 

Ham. Not a syllable. Come, tell us all about it. 

W. the Elder, Well, the narrative is rather a long 



328 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

and complicated one, General, and not altogether 
flattering to our common nature ; nor, entre nous, do 
I think it would prove remarkably entertaining to 
Pericles. His was a hard money government, you 
know. 

Ham. True ; well, well, some other time. 

Pei\ You're wrong in one thing, though, my old 
friend. 

W. the Elder. Ah, how so ? 

Per. Why, in saying that the governmental and 
commercial operations of Greece, in my day, rested 
entirely on a specie basis : quite the reverse, I as- 
sure you. 

Ham. You surprise me, Pericles. 

W. the Elder. And me also. Why, it was but 
the other day, that I was reading a most emphatic 
declaration to that effect in brother Mitford. 

Per. I can't help that. I ought to know better 
than a modern. What's more, let me tell you, we 
were quite flooded with worthless Bank paper in 
Athens, more than once, too, during my administra- 
tion. 

Ham,. Y'^ou don't say so. Are you in earnest, my 
friend ? 

Per. I am, so help me Hercules ! Confound it, 
have I not a right to speak on this point ? Did I 
not, when Archon, offer a premium of five talents, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 329 

for the best essay on Currency and the Credit sys- 
tem, and was not the prize duly awarded to my friend 
Crito, of Panormus ? Nay, did not I myself write 
a little treatise on Bills, and another on Promisory 
Notes, which were both received as authorities, 
throughout Greece? 

Ham. I ask ten thousand pardons, my dear friend. 
1 certainly supposed you were quizzing. But these 
historians are perpetually misleading us, you know. 
Thucydides himself indulged in an occasional fib, 
they say. 

Per. Yes, hang him, he has lied about me, quite 
fredy. 

Ham. Well, well ; and so the old Bank has gone 
by the board, has it ? Of course, the government 
has to employ the State Institutions, as fiscal agents. 

W. the Elder. Not a bit of it. Why, General, 
forgive me for saying so, but how completely and 
absurdly behind the age, you are ! However, this 
evening, if you have nothing better to do, we'll go 
over the whole ground. I confess I should very 
much like to have your opinion, as to the provisions 
of the Sub-Treasury Act, and also those of the Gen- 
eral Banking Law of our own State. 

Ham. Well, if agreeable to Pericles, that arrange- 
ment would suit me to a T. I should like to look 
into your tariff, too, and to have a peep at that same 



330 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Fugitive Slave Law, about -which brother Webster 
spoke to me recently, with so much warmth. So, 
what say you, Pericles ? 

Per. I'm content. As I said before. I find your 
American politics, alike instructive and fascinating. 
Meanwhile, though, I'm for hunting down a few of 
the metropolitan lions. 

Ham. True, true ; the sun is getting low ; so 
let's beolT to the Palace before it's too late. Come, 
lead on, my old federal friend, if you please. 

Per. Yes, we have not a moment to spare. 

W, the Elder. This way, then, my dear ghosts, 
at your service. \^Exeimt.'\ 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 331 



PHIDIAS.— RAPHAEL. 

Raph. It V)as rather strange, though, my dear 
brother of Greece, that we should have met as we 
did, at this same Washington Exhibition ; was it 
not ? 

Phid. Well, it would have been, perhaps, in some 
eras ; but in these times of free and easy spiritual 
traveling, and intercommunication, is there any thing 
strange ? Nay, are not all the marvels and myste- 
ries of the Universe fast fading away ? We knock 
about now, you know, from star to star, with as lit- 
tle ceremony as mortals did, from town to town, 
when I was in the body ; and certainly with far less 
annoyance, in the way of passports and custom- 
houses ; eh, brother ? 

Raph. You're right, quite right, my friend. 
Times have changed amazingly. But, Phidias, you 



332 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

flew away in such a hurry, you remember, that I 
had no opportunity of asking how you were pleased 
with the pictures. 

Phid. Yes, I had ap engagement at the time, 
with brother Browne, at Brooklyn. He wanted to 
consult me about some little matters, connected with 
his statue of Clinton. An admirable performance, 
by the way, Raphael. You mustn't fail to see it 
before you leave. 

Raph. I shall be most happy to do so ; but, my 
friend, you haven't answered toy question about the 
paintings. 

Phid. True, true. Well, I was rather pleased 
with the Exhibition, on the whole. I should have 
preferred, of course, to have seen a greater profu- 
sion of large pictures ; a little more homogeneous- 
ness, too, in its character, and a somewhat more or- 
derly arrangement ; a more thorough illustration, 
also, of American history ; more of the images of 
the great Patriot's associates ; not to speak of the 
scanty representation of my own department. Still, 
as I said before, I was quite gratified ; a decidedly 
creditable display, brother, for a young and hard- 
working country like this. But what's your own 
verdict ? I never was much of a ghost for paint- 
ings, you know. Your criticisms on the collection, 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 333 

now, "would be really worth having. You were evi- 
dently pleased, I see. 

Raph. I was, indeed, alike delighted and sur- 
prised, after what I had heard of the condition of 
art in America. To be sure, as you say, there was 
a paucity of grand historical works ; but I don't 
know when 1 have met a more charming collection 
of cabinet pictures, or of landscapes. 

Phid. Some good landscapes there, certainly. 

Raph. Superb, superb. If they are as faithful 
as they are beautiful. Nature has indeed smiled 
upon this land. At the moment, however, I was 
not so much thinking of those portraying American 
scenery, as of those others, wherein I saw reflected 
the features of my own poor, dear Italy. You no- 
ticed that view of Florence, of course, 

Phid. I did : an accurate likeness of the town, 
is it not ? 

Raph. Admirable, admirable. I could hardly 
tear myself away from it. 

Phid. I saw you lingering most abstractedly 
over it, and did not care to interrupt you ; thinking 
of old times, I suppose. 

Raph. Even so, my friend. Yes, Phidias, many 
a happy day on earth, did that fair scene recall, I 
assure you. How often, often have I stood on that 
very spot, gazing with rapture on that same golden 



334 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

light of evening, as the painter's skill hath so mar- 
vellously caught itj streaming through those same 
old streets, gilding those old towers and that glori- 
ous dome, smiling its last farewell upon those dainty 
villas, and the tops of those stately old Appe- 
nines ! What bright dreams have visited me there, 
what processions of grand and lovely forms have 
passed before me, what high hopes of renown and 
immortality have been kindled within me ! How 
often, too, have I held sweet converse there, with 
my ever beloved Lorenzo, or listened to the melo- 
dious wisdom of our revered preceptor, Leonardo ! 
Happy, happy days, indeed, w^hich neither my after 
career on earth, nor all my spiritual experiences 
since, have ever been able to efface from memory ! 

Phid. Why, brother, you are growing very ro- 
mantic, all of a sudden. But, candidly, my dear 
Raphael, apart from these same glowing associa- 
tions of yours, I must say I didn't see anything so 
very remarkable in the picture in question. What's 
more, I wouldn't exchange that noble bust by Hou- 
don, in the collection, for an acre of such perform- 
ances. 

Raph, How can you talk so, Phidias ? 7J on the 
contrary, would not give that same glorious picture, 
for a wilderness of such busts ; no, much as I 
esteem its maker, profoundly as I reverence the 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 335 

hero it commemorates. But did you observe the 
picture directly over the Florence 7 

Phid. A passing glance, merely ; Italian scenery 
also, if I remember rightly. 

JRaph. It was, and a most admirable composition ; 
full of thought, full of beauty ; almost overloaded, 
indeed, with ornament. I don't know when I have 
seen a work, every square inch of which was so sug- 
gestive. 

Phid. Indeed ! I didn't stop to study it. The 
Course of Empire, by the same artist, impressed 
me very agreeably, however. 

Raph. A magnificent series, truly. It alone 
ought to rescue American art from the flippant criti- 
cisms of its detractors. What a grand conception ! 
How faithfully, how heroically worked up, too ! 
What wealth, what harmony of color, also ! Cun- 
ning indeed the hand, and fertile the mind, that have 
embodied such a sublime history on canvas ! Pray 
tell me, my worthy host, is the artist still living, 
that hath wrought thus felicitously ? If so, I should 
dearly love to pay my respects to him. 

W. the Elder, Alas, no; he left us some years 
since. 

Raph. Indeed ! Strange that we should not 
have met in spirit-land, ere this. 

W. the Elder, I had the honor of a spiritual call 



336 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

from liim, recently. He expressed the same sur- 
prise, by the way, to brother Rubens, who also con- 
descended to honor my humble lodgings. It was 
indeed charming, Raphael, to hear the filial, nay, 
reverential way in which they both spoke of you. 

Raj)h. Far, far before my humble merits, friend. 

Phid. But tell us, Raphael, how did you like the 
large picture, by Leutze., that gives its name to the 
Exhibition ? 

Raph. Well, I was much pleased with it, though 
I regret to say, I was but little familiar with the 
event it illustrates. 

Phid. What say you, old host ? What do you 
Americans think of it, any how? 

W. the Elder. Excuse me, Phidias, but I deci- 
dedly prefer to play the listener, and not the critic, 
in the presence of such masters. 

Phid. Pshaw, speak out, man ; no pseudo mod- 
esty. 

W. the Elder. Well, I am delighted with the 
work, myself ; and I believe the general opinion is, 
that it is a most spirited, life-like piece ; well drawn 
and colored ; true to nature and to history ; in 
short, that it does not fall below the epic dignity of 
the great and critical event in our annals, that it 
commemorates. 

Raph. I've no doubt of it. There's a world of 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 337 

expression in it, certainly, and a look of truth. 
There was another picture, by the way, by the same 
artist, that I was much pleased with. 

W. the Elder. What one, may I ask 1 

JRaph. Well, here again, the story it tells is a 
mystery to me, and I must call on you for an expla- 
nation. The catalogue, if I remember rightly, enti- 
tles it, Hester Prynne and Little Pearl. There is 
a female in it, plainly clad, but with some strange 
embroidery upon her boddice. Her face is lovely, 
but grief-worn, reminding me strongly of brother 
Guido's Cenci ; only a little more stern, perhaps ; 
her arms are folded about a bright, mischievous 
looking young child, fancifully dressed, and its head 
adorned with some of the most brilliantly beautiful 
flowers that I ever saw. Pray tell me, what is the 
sad history that lurks underneath it ? 

W. the Elder. If you will allow me, my honored 
friend, instead of venturing on any blundering ex- 
planation of my ou"n, I will show you the passage 
in the book itseif. [Gets and presents the Scarlet 
Letter.^ 

Raph. [after glancing at tlie description.^ True, 
true. 

W. the Elder. Rightly to appreciate it, how- 
ever, you should read the whole story. Allow me 
to beg your acceptance of the volume. I am, in- 



338 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

deed, most proud to offer it to you, as the master- 
piece of one of our most illustrious story-tellers. 

Raph. I shall be delighted to read it, I assure 
you. 

W. the Elder. You'll find it full of gems. By 
the way, did you notice a picture, in the immediate 
neighborhood of the one you speak of — a landscape, 
which, in my poor opinion, is the most vivid and 
beautiful transcript of our New England mountain 
scenery, that has yet been made ? 

Raph. What, brother Church's Tiuilight 7 

W. the Elder. The same. 

Raph. I did, indeed, and was wonderfully taken 
with it. There is a finer one of his, however, in your 
Academy Exhibition ; a marine piece ; a sunset, 
most exquisitely composed. Brother Claude him- 
self might have been proud to have put his initials 
to it. 

W. the Elder, [aside.] There^s an endorsement 
for you. 

Fhid. So you've been to the Academy, Raphael ? 

Raph. For a few moments only ; long enough, 
however, to see that there were some capital things 
there. 

W. the Elder. And the usual overwhelming ma- 
jority of daubs. 

Phid. Yes, some most atrocious perpetrations ; 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 339 

and in mj own walk of art, a most beggarly show ; 
what little there was, not bad, certainly ; but alto- 
gether, not enough to overload an ordinary sized tea- 
tray. What in Juno's name are all your yank.ee 
sculptors about, landlord? You surely don't mean 
to say, that this is a fair exponent of their labors, 
for the past twelvemonth ? 

W. the Elder. Heaven forbid ! 

Phid. But where are their works? Your Pow- 
ers', your Crawfords, your Grreenoughs ; they surely 
haven't been idle all this while ? 

W. the Elder. Brother Greenough left us but 
recently, for higher spheres of action. Brothers 
Powers and Crawford are both right busy on statues 
and monuments, that, when finished, will run your 
Athenian productions very hard, let me tell you. 

Phid. 1 am rejoiced to hear it. Meanwhile, I 
see little or no sculpture about me, either in your 
dwellings, or your public buildings ; and as to out- 
door sculpture, with the exception of the statue of 
Clinton that I spoke of just now, literally nothing. 

W. the Elder. Nothing ? Oh, you've not been 
to the right quarters of the town, Phidias. 

Phid. Right quarters ? humbug. I tell you, 
there's nothing of the sort, in all this colossal me- 
tropolis of yours ; unless you are pleased so to deno- 
minate sundry stray mammoth boots, and wooden 



340 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

Indians, and hideous mandarins ; not to speak of a 
few gigantic gilt eagles, time-pieces, spectacles, nags' 
heads, and such like monstrosities. 

W. the Elder. Eoots, Indians, nags' heads ? 
Pshaw ! Why, what a stupid cicerone you must 
have had with you ! You surely didn't miss seeing 
that superb figure, that crowns the cupola of our 
magnificent palace of justice? 

Fhid. I believe I did see the image you refer to. 

W. the Elder. AVell, and did it not recall to you, 
most forcibly, your own illustrious goddess of the 
Parthenon, or the still more glorious Olympian 
Jove ? 

Fhid. Bah ! I ask your pardon, but I must be 
honest. -. 

W. the Elder. Certainly, certainly. I confess, 
though, that your criticism alike amazes and morti- 
fies me. I have heard eminent connoisseurs speak 
of the statue in question, as a conception worthy of 
Michael Angelo himself. But our architecture, 
Phidias, our architecture ; that surely makes up for 
a world of short-comings in the other departments, 
don't it ? 

Phid. Well, you certainly have most of our fine 
Greek names among you ; Lyceum, Atheneum, Me- 
lodeon, Parthenon, Minerva Buildings, and so fol- 
lowing ; but there the resemblance stops. 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 341 

W. the Elder. Come now, Phidias, jou are quite 
too severe upon us. Our architecture, especially in 
the business parts of the city, is admitted by all to 
be really superb. 

Pliid. It is good, I allow. You are erecting some 
beautiful stores among you. Still, your efforts gen- 
erally, in this branch, are exceedingly faulty. You 
are quite too fond of tawdry ornaments, and sham 
fronts. There is a terrible lack, both of solidity 
and of expression, in your buildings, and some 
shameful mixing of orders, at times. You put 
up some pretty churches, I admit : all but the 
steeples ; but then you leave no space about them, 
either for trees or monuments, or even for necessary 
light and ventilation. That Crystal Palace of yours, 
too, graceful and beautiful thing that it is, yet how 
infelicitous is its location ! How can a body, or a 
ghost, get any satisfactory view of its proportions, 
wedged in, as it is, by the surrounding buildings 1 

W. the Elder. You're right there, certainly. 
There is too much truth, too, I fear, in your other 
strictures. We'll improve in time, though, my 
friend. 

Phid. I hope so. I don't think the prospects of 
Art in America, however, are particularly brilliant ; 
no, not in any of its walks. There don't seem (at 
least to my cursory observation), to be that love, 



342 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

that reverence for it. which can alone lead to heroic 
efforts after excellence, or great results. A mere 
passion for display, and for the applause of the mil- 
lion, I am sorry to say, appears to me to be the 
leading motive of all your American performances, 
alike in things useful and ornamental ; the mon- 
strari digito, and not that ingrained love of the 
true, and grand, and beautiful, that made us Greeks 
such consummate workmen. I may do you injustice, 
but so it strikes me. Your habits, customs, laws, 
all seem to favor this propensity too, and to lead to 
a specious, superficial, perishing splendor, and not to 
the grand, and massive, and enduring in Art. 

W, the Elder. You don't think democracy and 
high art can coexist, then ? 

Phid. Candidly, I do not. What say you, bro- 
ther Raphael ? 

Raph, Well, this is a difficult subject, friends. 
I hardly feel competent to discuss it, much less to 
apply it in the present case, with my very limited 
knowledge of America and Americans. My observa- 
tions, however, such as they are, Phidias, I must say, 
have inclined me to rather different conclusions from 
those expressed by you. That these good men of 
the West are a pretty restless set of mortals, very 
impatient after results, and over-fond of admiration, 
the most superficial traveler cannot help noticing ; 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 343 

but at the same time, my friendj I think I see in 
them a far greater sensibility to beauty and gran- 
deur, and harmony, than you are disposed to allow 
them ; not so much, I grant you, as you old 
Athenians were gifted with, but certainly far 
more than their French or English brethren ever 
had or will have ; yes, far more aptness for, and ap- 
preciation of, artistic excellence. And then again, 
how much is there about them, to call out these quali- 
ties ! Nay, how bountiful, in this regard, has their 
Creator been towards them ! What a wide-spread 
scene of beauty and fertility has he assigned them 
for their labors ! Little have I seen of it, indeed, in 
my brief visit here ; but those very landscapes that 
we were admiring so, this morning, did they not suf- 
ficiently reveal a world of resources, not merely for 
the capitalist, but for the poet and the artist ? With 
such materials, then, for excellence, both in them- 
selves and around them ; with means of culture, too, 
so universal and accessible ; with laws which, (if I 
rightly understand them,) while they do not favor 
any unhealthy accumulations of property, in partic- 
ular places or families, yet necessarily tend to na- 
tional opulence, by the fields they open, the expansion 
which they give to the energies of every citizen ; 
with 0,11 these advantages, why should not the Ame- 
ricans do great things in Art 7 Why should not the 



344 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

elegant desires, and lofty aspirations, that sustain it, 
come with the unparalleled wealth and power, that 
the future has in store for them ? The manifesta- 
tions of that art may differ, indeed, from those of 
your own Athens, or my, now, alas, poor, broken-^ 
hearted Italy ; it may erect no more sumptuous tem- 
ples or statues to false gods, or people the walls and 
domes of huge cathedrals with legendary saints and 
martyrs ; but will it not have a far more noble and 
ample field for its labors, in the piles that it is to 
rear to Commerce, and Legislation, and Learning, 
and Charity, ay, and to a purer, loftier Faith, than 
you or I, my friend, ever knew on earth ; in the 
monuments, too, that it is to raise to the heroes and 
philanthropists of a better and wiser age, than that 
of Leo or of Pericles ? I can't help thinking so, and 
that the unborn poets, painters, sculptors, architects 
of this fair land, will thus have more abundant and 
lofty employment, than did their brethren of old. — 
As I said before, though, my friends, this is too dif- 
ficult and complicated a theme to be lightly handled, 
nor am I sufficiently acquainted with the history of 
America, or with the elements of the American char- 
acter, to have any valuable opinion upon it. But, 
Dio niio, my old host, does that quaint time-piece of 
yours speak truth ? If so, I must be off forthwith. 
W. the Elder. It's right, I believe ; but I am 



SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 345 

really vexed to hear you talk of going. A privilege 
so rare, so inestimable as this — 

Rajth. Come, come, no fine speeches now. I 
should dearly love to spend the day with you, 
though, I must say ; but brother Shakspeare will 
get out of all patience with me. 

W. the Elder. Brother Shakspeare ? 

Rajih. Certainly ; why do you stare so ? You 
must know, old gentleman, that I am engaged, and 
have been, for some time, on a rare piece of work, 
for the dear bard. 

W, the Elder. Dare I ask what ? 

Rcqyh. And why not ? I am executing a series 
of frescos for him, from themes from brother Milton. 

W. the Elder. What, from his terrestrial works? 

Raph. Partially from the Paradise Lost and Co- 
mus, partially from more recent poems. Now, don't 
ask me any more questions, for I've not a minute 
to spare. 

Phid. Besides, old gentleman, you'll find out all 
about it, before long, in your Handbook for Heaven. 
But, by George, I must be back to my work, too. 

W. the Elder. What may you be modelling now, 
Phidias ? 

Phid. A St. Paul. 

W. the Elder. A colossal figure, of course. 



346 SPIRITUAL VISITORS. 

PIdd. Not remarkably so; some six hundred 
feet, including the pedestal. 

W, the Elder. The devil ! I ask ten thousand 
pardons, but the figures startled me somewhat, at 
first, I confess. Out of a single block, I presume? 

Phid. Why, of course. 

W. the Elder. And intended for the open air 7 

Phid. By no means ; it is designed for one of the 
ornaments of the nave of the Cathedral of Santa 
Cecilia, in the bright, particular star, so called. 
But I can't go into the statistics, now, eager as you 
evidently are after them. 

W. the Elder. Well, I certainly should like to 
know more of the statue in question, and of the 
quarries that furnished it ; but above all, of the 
church it is intended for. We earth-worms used to 
think St. Peter's a pretty sizeable building. 

Phid. St. Peter's ! ha, ha, ha ! 

Rwph. Come, come, Phidias, we mustn't stop 
here talking nonsense any longer. If you are go- 
ing my way, I should be most happy of your com- 
pany through space. 

Phid. Yours to command, brother. So, let's be 
ofi". Good bye, old gentleman. 

W. the Elder. Well, friends, if it must be so, 
farewell, and a pleasant journey to you. 

[Exeunt.] 

311-77-9 



LIBRARY 




